EPISCOPAL  DEACONESS  HOUSE 
642  South  BoyU  Ave. 


EPISCOPAL  DFAC0NES8  HOUSE 

642  e;n.  ..  Eoy!e  Ave. 


*'TO   LET" 

ETC 


"TO   LET" 


EPISCOPAL  DEACONESS  HOUSE 
642  South  Boyle  Ave. 


BY 

B.  M.  CROKER 

AUTHOR    OP 

■A  Family  Likeness.'  "  Interferkncs,     "Two  Masters,"  etc. 


UPPINC^^?^ 

^PANYV 

^S 

A 

S 

m 

PHILADELPHIA 

J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY 
1906 


C3^to 


CONTENTS. 


FAOB 

« To  Let"    ^ 1 

Mrs.  Katmond     „,            ,„            ,.,            •..            ,„  39 

Tub  Ehitmatqab        •««           ••«           •>■•            •••            •••  ^^ 

Tub  Dak  Bungalow  at  Dakob     ..«           ,„           ,.•  114 

"  The  Otheb  Miss  Bbownb  "  ..,           ,»^           ,„           „,  145 

"If  too  see  hkb  Faoe"  .„            ,,,           ,,,           ,.,  181 

The  Fobmeb  Passengers   .       m*           (ww           •••           »••  195 

The  Secret  of  the  Amulet          ,„           ...           ...  215 


2135?S8 


"  TO  let:* 

«List,  list,  0  list  I  "—Hamlet,  Act  L 

Some  years  ago,  when  I  was  a  slim  young  spin, 
I  came  out  to  India  to  live  with  my  brother  Tom : 
he  and  I  were  members  of  a  large  and  somewhat 
impecunious  family,  and  I  do  not  think  my  mother 
was  sorry  to  have  one  of  her  four  grown-up 
daughters  thus  taken  ofif  her  hands.  Tom's  wife, 
Aggie,  had  been  at  school  with  my  eldest  sister ; 
we  had  known  and  liked  her  all  our  lives,  and 
regarded  her  as  one  of  ourselves ;  and  as  she  and 
the  children  were  at  home  when  Tom's  letter  was 
received,  and  his  offer  accepted,  she  helped  me 
to  choose  my  slender  outfit,  with  judgment,  zeal, 
and  taste ;  endowed  me  with  several  pretty  addi- 
tions to  my  wardrobe ;  superintended  the  fitting 
of  my  gowns  and  the  trying  on  of  my  hats,  with 
most  sympathetic  interest,  and  finally  escorted  me 

B 


2  To   LET.'' 

out  to  Lucknow,  under  her  own  wing,  and  installed 
me  in  the  only  spare  room  in  her  comfortable 
bungalow  in  Dilkousha. 

My  sister-in-law  is  a  pretty  little  brunette,  rather 
pale,  with  dark  hair,  brilliant  black  eyes,  a  reso- 
lute mouth,  and  a  bright,  intelligent  expression. 
She  is  orderly,  trim,  feverishly  energetic,  and 
seems  to  live  every  moment  of  her  life.  Her 
children,  her  wardrobe,  her  house,  her  servants, 
and  last,  not  least,  her  husband,  are  all  models 
in  their  way ;  and  yet  she  has  plenty  of  time  for 
tennis,  and  dancing,  and  talking  and  walking. 
She  is,  undoubtedly,  a  remarkably  talented  little 
creature,  and  especially  prides  herself  on  her 
nerve,  and  her  power  of  will,  or  will  power.  I 
suppose  they  are  the  same  thing  ?  and  I  am  sure 
they  are  all  the  same  to  Tom,  who  worships  the 
sole  of  her  small  slipper.  Strictly  between  our- 
selves, she  is  the  ruling  member  of  the  family,  and 
turns  her  lord  and  master  round  her  little  finger. 
Tom  is  big  and  fair  (of  course),  the  opposite  to  his 
wife,  quiet,  rather  easy-going  and  inclined  to  be 


"TO  let:*  3 

indolent;  but  Aggie  rouses  him  up,  and  pushes 
him  to  the  front,  and  keeps  him  there.  She 
knows  all  about  his  department,  his  prospects  of 
promotion,  his  prospects  of  furlough,  of  getting 
acting  appointments,  and  so  on,  even  better  than 
he  does  himself.  The  chief  of  Tom's  department 
— have  I  said  that  Tom  is  in  the  Irritation  Office  ? 
— has  placed  it  solemnly  on  record  that  he  con- 
siders little  Mrs.  Shandon  a  surprisingly  clever 
woman.  The  two  children,  Bob  and  Tor,  are 
merry,  oppressively  active  monkeys,  aged  three 
and  five  years  respectively.  As  for  myself,  I  am 
tall,  fair — and  I  wish  I  could  add  pretty !  but 
this  is  a  true  story.  My  eyes  are  blue,  my  teeth 
are  white,  my  hair  is  red — alas,  a  blazing  red  ; 
and  I  was,  at  this  perit/d,  nineteen  years  of  age ; 
and  now  I  think  I  have  given  a  sufficient  outline 
of  the  whole  family. 

We  arrived  at  Lucknow  in  November,  when  the 
cold  weather  is  delightful,  and  everything  was 
delightful  to  me.  The  bustle  and  life  of  a  great 
Indian  station,  the  novelty  of  my  surroundings, 


4  "TO   LET.'' 

the  early  morning  rides,  picnics  down  the  river, 
and  dances  at  the  "  Chutter  Munzil,"  made  me 
look  upon  Lucknow  as  a  paradise  on  earth ;  and 
in  this  light  I  still  regarded  it,  until  a  great 
change  came  over  the  temperature,  and  the  month 
of  April  introduced  me  to  red-hot  winds,  sleepless 
nights,  and  the  intolerable  "brain  fever"  bird. 
Aggie  had  made  up  her  mind  definitely  on  one 
subject :  we  were  not  to  go  away  to  the  hills  until 
the  rains.  Tom  could  only  get  two  months'  leave 
(July  and  August),  and  she  did  not  intend  to  leave 
him  to  grill  on  the  plains  alone.  As  for  herself 
and  the  children — not  to  speak  of  me — we  had  all 
come  out  from  home  so  recently  that  we  did  not 
require  a  change.  The  trip  to  Europe  had  made  a 
vast  hole  in  the  family  stocking,  and  she  wished 
to  economize ;  and  who  can  economize  with  two 
establishments  in  full  swing  ?  Tell  me  this,  ye 
Anglo  -  Indian  matrons  ?  With  a  large,  cool 
bungalow,  plenty  of  punkhas,  khuskhus  tatties, 
ice,  and  a  thermantidote,  surely  we  could  manage 
to  brave  May  and  June — at  any  rate  the  attempt 


"TO  let:*  5 

was  made.  Gradually  the  hills  drained  Lucknow 
week  by  week;  family  after  family  packed  up, 
warned  us  of  our  folly  in  remaining  on  the  plains, 
offered  to  look  for  houses  for  us,  and  left  by  the 
night  mail.  By  the  middle  of  May,  the  place  was 
figuratively  empty.  Nothing  can  be  more  dreary 
than  a  large  station  in  the  hot  weather — unless  it 
is  an  equally  forsaken  hill  station  in  the  depths 
of  winter,  when  the  mountains  are  covered  with 
snow,  the  mall  no  longer  resounds  with  gay  voices 
and  the  tramp  of  Jampanies,  but  is  visited  by 
bears  and  panthers,  and  the  houses  are  closed, 
and,  as  it  were,  put  to  bed  in  straw !  As  for  Luck- 
now  in  the  summer,  it  was  a  melancholy  spot ;  the 
public  gardens  were  deserted,  the  chairs  at  the 
Chutter  Munzil  stood  empty,  the  very  bands  had 
gone  to  the  hills !  the  shops  were  shut,  the  baked 
white  roads,  no  longer  thronged  with  carriages  and 
bamboo  carts,  gave  ample  room  to  the  humble 
ekka,  or  a  Dhobie's  meagre  donkey,  shuffling  along 
in  the  dust. 
Of  course  we  were  not  the  only  people  remain- 


6  "TO  let:* 

ing  in  the  place,  grumbling  at  the  heat  and  dust 
and  life  in  general ;  but  there  can  be  no  sociability 
with  the  thermometer  above  100°  in  the  shade. 
Through  the  long,  long  Indian  day  we  sat  and 
gasped,  in  darkened  rooms,  and  consumed  quan- 
tities of  *'  Nimbo  pegs,"  i.e.  limes  and  soda  water, 
and  listened  to  the  fierce  hot  wind  roaring  along 
the  road  and  driving  the  roasted  leaves  before  it ; 
and  in  the  evening,  when  the  sun  had  set,  we 
went  for  a  melancholy  drive  through  the  Wing- 
field  Park,  or  round  by  Martiniere  College,  and 
met  our  friends  at  the  library,  and  compared  sen- 
sations and  thermometers.  TLe  season  was  ex- 
ceptionally bad  (but  people  s:  y  that  every  year), 
and  presently  Bobby  and  Tor  Liegan  to  fade :  their 
little  white  faces  and  listless  eyes  appealed  to 
Aggie  as  Tom's  anxious  expostulations  had  never 
done.  "  Yes,  they  must  go  to  the  hills  with  me.'' 
But  this  idea  I  repudiated  at  once;  I  refused  to 
undertake  the  responsibility — I,  who  could  scarcely 
speak  a  word  to  the  servants — who  had  no  ex- 
perience !      Then  Bobbie  had  a   bad  go   of  fever 


"TO   LET.**  7 

—intermittent  fever;  the  beginning  of  the  end 
to  his  alarmed  mother ;  the  end  being  repre- 
sented by  a  large  gravestone !  She  now  became 
as  firmly  determined  to  go,  as  she  had  previously 
been  resolved  to  stay;  but  it  was  so  late  in  the 
season  to  take  a  house.  Alas,  alas,  for  the  beau- 
tiful tempting  advertisements  in  the  Pioneer,  which 
we  had  seen  and  scorned  !  Aggie  wrote  to  a  friend 
in  a  certain  hill  station,  called  (for  this  occasion 
only)  "  Kantia,"  and  Tom  wired  to  a  house  agent, 
who  triumphantly  replied  by  letter,  that  there  was 
not  one  unlet  bungalow  on  his  books.  This  mis- 
sive threw  us  into  the  depths  of  despair  ;  there 
seemed  no  alternative  but  a  hill  hotel,  and  the 
usual  quarters  that  await  the  last  comers,  and 
the  proverbial  welcome  for  children  and  dogs  (we 
had  only  four) ;  but  the  next  day  brought  us  good 
news  from  Aggie's  friend  Mrs.  Chalmers. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Shandon  (she  said), 

"  I  received  your  letter,  and  went  at  once 
to  Curaitjee,  the  agent.     Every  hole  and  corner 


8  "TO   LET." 

up  here  seems  full,  and  he  had  not  a  single  house 
to  let.  To-day  I  had  a  note  from  him,  saying 
that  Briarwood  is  vacant ;  the  people  who  took 
it  are  not  coming  up,  they  have  gone  to  Naini 
Tal.  You  are  in  luck.  I  have  just  been  out  to 
see  the  house,  and  have  secured  it  for  you.  It  is 
a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  club,  but  I  know  that 
you  and  your  sister  are  capital  walkers.  I  envy 
you.  Such  a  charming  place — two  sitting-rooms, 
four  bedrooms,  four  bath-rooms,  a  hall,  servants' 
go-downs,  stabling,  and  a  splendid  view  from  a  very 
pretty  garden,  and  only  Es.  800  for  the  season ! 
Why,  I  am  paying  Es.  1000  for  a  very  inferior 
house,  with  scarcely  a  stick  of  furniture  and  no 
view.  I  feel  so  proud  of  myself,  and  I  am  long- 
ing to  show  you  my  treasure-trove.  Telegraph 
when  you  start,  and  I  shall  have  a  milkman  in 
waiting  and  fires  in  all  the  rooms. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"Edith  Chalmers." 

We  now  looked  upon  Mrs.  Chalmers  as  our  best 


"TO   LET."  9 

and  dearest  friend,  and  began  to  get  under  way 
at  once.  A  long  journey  in  India  is  a  serious  busi- 
ness, "when  the  party  comprises  two  ladies,  two  chil- 
dren, two  ayahs,  and  five  other  servants,  three  fox 
terriers,  a  mongoose,  and  a  Persian  cat — all  these 
animals  going  to  the  hills  for  the  benefit  of  their 
health — not  to  speak  of  a  ton  of  luggage,  includ- 
ing crockery  and  lamps,  a  cottage  piano,  a  goat, 
and  a  pony.  Aggie  and  I,  the  children,  one  ayah, 
two  terriers,  the  cat  and  mongoose,  our  bedding 
and  pillows,  the  tiffin  basket  and  ice  basket,  were 
all  stowed  into  one  compartment,  and  I  must 
confess  that  the  journey  was  truly  miserable. 
The  heat  was  stifling,  despite  the  water  tatties. 
One  of  the  terriers  had  a  violent  dispute  with  the 
cat,  and  the  cat  had  a  difference  with  the  mon- 
goose, and  Bob  and  Tor  had  a  pitched  battle ; 
more  than  once  I  actually  wished  myself  back  in 
Lucknow.  I  was  most  truly  thankful  to  wake  one 
morning,  to  find  myself  under  the  shadow  of  the 
Himalayas — not  a  mighty,  snow-clad  range  of  ever- 
lasting hills,  but  merely  the  spurs — the  moderate 


lo  "TO  let:* 

slopes,  covered  with  scrub,  loose  shale,  and  jungle, 
and  deceitful  little  trickling  watercourses.  We 
Bent  the  servants  on  ahead,  whilst  we  rested 
at  the  Dak  bungalow  near  the  railway  station, 
and  then  followed  them  at  our  leisure.  We  ac- 
complished the  ascent  in  dandies — open  kind  of 
boxes,  half  box,  half  chair,  carried  on  the 
shoulders  of  four  men.  This  was  an  entirely 
novel  sensation  to  me,  and  at  first  an  agreeable 
one,  so  long  as  the  slopes  were  moderate,  and 
the  paths  wide ;  but  the  higher  we  went,  the 
narrower  became  the  path,  the  steeper  the  naked 
precipice;  and  as  my  coolies  would  walk  at  the 
extreme  edge,  with  the  utmost  indifference  to  my 
frantic  appeals  to  "  Beetor  !  Beetor !  " — and  would 
change  poles  at  the  most  agonizing  corners — my 
fselings  were  very  mixed,  especially  when  droves 
of  loose  pack  ponies  came  thundering  downhill, 
with  no  respect  for  the  rights  of  the  road.  Late 
at  night  we  passed  through  Kantia,  and  arrived 
at  Briarwood,  far  too  weary  to  be  critical.  Fires 
were  blazing,  supper  was  prepared,  and  we  de- 


"TO   LET.''  II 

Bpatched  it  in  haste,  and  most  thankfully  went 
to  bed  and  slept  soundly,  as  any  one  would  do 
who  had  spent  thirty-six  hours  in  a  crowded  com- 
partment, and  ten  in  a  cramped  wooden  case. 

The  next  morning,  rested  aua  invigorated,  we 
set  out  on  a  tour  of  inspection ;  and  it  is  almost 
worth  while  to  undergo  a  certain  amount  of  baking 
in  the  sweltering  heat  of  the  lower  regions,  in  order 
to  enjoy  those  deep  first  draughts  of  cool  hill  air, 
instead  of  a  stifling,  dust-laden  atmosphere ;  and 
to  appreciate  the  green  valleys  and  blue  hills,  by 
force  of  contrast  to  the  far- stretching,  eye-smart- 
ing, white  glaring  roads,  that  intersect  the  burnt- 
np  plains — roads  and  plains,  that  even  the  pariah 
abandons,  salamander  though  he  be  ! 

To  our  delight  and  surprise,  Mrs.  Chalmers 
had  by  no  means  overdrawn  the  advantages  of 
our  new  abode.  The  bungalow  was  soUdly  built 
of  stone,  two  storied,  and  ample  in  size.  It  stood 
on  a  kind  of  shelf,  cut  out  of  the  hillside,  and 
was  surrounded  by  a  pretty  flower  garden,  full  of 
rosos,  fuchsias,  and  carnations.     The   high  road 


12  "TO  let:' 

passed  the  gate,  from  which  the  avenue  descended, 
direct  to  the  entrance  door,  at  the  end  oi 
the  house,  and  from  whence  ran  a  long  passage. 
Off  this  passage  three  rooms  opened  to  the  right, 
all  looking  south,  and  all  looking  into  a  deep, 
delightful,  flagged,  verandah.  The  stairs  were 
very  steep.  At  the  head  of  them,  the  passage 
and  rooms  were  repeated.  There  were  small 
nooks,  and  dressing-rooms,  and  convenient  out- 
houses, and  plenty  of  good  water ;  but  the  glory 
of  Briarwood  was  undoubtedly  its  verandah  :  it 
was  fully  twelve  feet  wide,  roofed  with  zinc, 
and  overhung  a  precipice  of  a  thousand  feet — 
not  a  startlingly  sheer  khud,  but  a  tolerably 
straight  descent  of  grey-blue  shale,  rocks,  and  low 
jungle.  From  it  there  was  a  glorious  view,  across 
a  valley,  far  away,  to  the  snowy  range.  It  opened 
at  one  end  into  the  avenue,  and  was  not  inclosed  ; 
but  at  the  side  next  the  precipice,  there  was  a 
stout  wooden  railing,  with  netting  at  the  bottom, 
for  the  safety  of  too  enterprising  dogs  or  children 
A   charming   spot,  despite  its  rather  bold   situa- 


*'ro  LETr  13 

tion ;  and  as  Aggie  and  I  sat  in  it,  surveying  the 
scenery  and  inhaling  the  pure  hill  air,  and  watch- 
ing Bob  and  Tor  tearing  up  and  down,  playing 
horses,  we  said  to  one  another  that  "the  verandah 
alone  was  worth  half  the  rent." 

"  It's  absurdly  cheap,"  exclaimed  my  sister- 
in-law  complacently.  *'  I  wish  you  saw  the  hovel 
/  had,  at  Simla,  for  the  same  rent.  I  wonder  if 
it  is  feverish,  or  badly  drained,  or  what  ?  " 

**  Perhaps  it  has  a  ghost,"  I  suggested  face- 
tiously ;  and  at  such  an  absurd  idea  we  both 
went  into  peals  of  laughter. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Chalmers  appeared,  brisk, 
rosy,  and  breathlessly  benevolent,  having  walked 
over  from  Kantia. 

"  So  you  have  found  it,"  she  said  as  we  shook 
hands.  **  I  said  nothing  about  this  delicious 
verandah  !  I  thought  I  would  keep  it  as  a  sur- 
prise. I  did  not  say  a  word  too  much  for  Briar- 
wood,  did  I  ?  " 

**  Not  half  enough,"  we  returned  rapturously ; 
and  presently  we  went  in  a  body,  armed  with  a 


14  "TO   LET." 

list  from  the  agent,  and  proceeded  to  go  over  the 
house  and  take  stock  of  its  contents. 

"It's  not  a  bit  like  a  hih  furnished  house," 
boasted  Mrs.  Chalmers,  with  a  glow  of  pride,  as 
she  looked  round  the  drawing-room;  "carpets, 
curtains,  solid,  very  solid  chairs,  and  Berlin  wool- 
worked  screens,  a  card-table,  and  any  quantity 
of  pictures." 

"  Yes,  don't  they  look  like  family  portraits  ?  " 
I  suggested,  as  we  gazed  at  them.  There  was 
one  of  an  officer  in  faded  water  colours,  another 
of  his  wife,  two  of  a  previous  generation  in  oils 
and  amply  gilded  frames,  two  sketches  of  an 
English  country  house,  and  some  framed  photo- 
graphs— groups  of  grinning  cricketers,  or  wedding 
guests.  All  the  rooms  were  well,  almost  hand- 
somely, furnished  in  an  old-fashioned  style.  There 
was  no  scarcity  of  wardrobes,  looking-glasses,  or 
even  armchairs,  in  the  bedrooms,  and  the  pantry 
was  fitted  out — a  most  singular  circumstance — ■ 
with  a  large  supply  of  handsome  glass  and  china, 
lamps,  old  moderators,  coffee  and  teapots,  plated 


"TO   LET."*  15 

side  dishes,  and  candlesticks,  cooking  utensils  and 
spoons  and  forks,  wine  coasters  and  a  cake-basket. 
These  articles  were  all  let  with  the  house  (much 
to  our  amazement),  provided  we  were  responsible 
for  the  same.  The  china  was  spode,  the  plate 
old  family  heirlooms,  with  a  crest — a  winged 
horse — on  everything,  down  to  the  very  mustard 
spoons. 

"The  people  who  own  this  house  must  be 
lunatics,"  remarked  Aggie,  as  she  peered  round 
the  pantry;  "fancy  hiring  out  one's  best  family 
plate,  and  good  old  china !  And  I  saw  some 
ancient  music-books  in  the  drawing-room,  and 
there  is  a  side  saddle  in  the  bottle  khana." 

**  My  dear,  the  people  who  owned  this  house  are 
dead,"  explained  Mrs.  Chalmers.  **  I  heard  all 
V about  them  last  evening  from  Mrs.  Starkey." 

"  Oh,  is  she  up  there  ?  "  exclaimed  Aggie,  some- 
what fretfully. 

**Yes,  her  husband  is  cantonment  magistrate. 
This  house  belonged  to  an  old  retired  colonel  and 
his  wife.     They  and  bis  niece  lived  here.     These 


1 6  "ro   LET."* 

were  all  their  belongings.  They  died  within  a 
short  time  of  one  another,  and  the  old  man  left 
a  queer  will,  to  say  that  the  house  was  to  remain 
precisely  as  they  left  it  for  twenty  years,  and  at 
the  end  of  that  time,  it  was  to  be  sold  and  all  the 
property  dispersed.  Mrs.  Starkey  says  she  is  sure 
that  he  never  intended  it  to  be  let,  but  the  heir- 
at-law  insists  on  that,  and  is  furious  at  the  terms 
of  the  will." 

**  Well,  it  is  a  very  good  thing  for  us,"  remarked 
Aggie  ;  "  we  are  as  comfortable  here,  as  if  we  were 
in  our  own  house  :  there  is  a  stove  in  the  kitchen, 
there  are  nice  boxes  for  firewood  in  every  room, 
clocks,  real  hair  mattresses — in  short,  it  is  as  you 
said,  a  treasure  trove." 

We  set  to  work  to  modernize  the  drawing-room 
with  phoolkaries,  Madras  muslin  curtains,  photo- 
graph screens  and  frames,  and  such-like  portable 
articles.  We  placed  the  piano  across  a  corner, 
arranged  flowers  in  some  handsome  Dresden 
china  vases,  and  entirely  altered  and  improved 
the    character  of  the  room.      When  Aggie   had 


To  LET."  17 

despatched  a  most  glowing  description  of  our  new 
quarters  to  Tom,  and  when  we  had  had  tiffin,  we  set 
off  to  walk  into  Kantia  to  put  our  names  down  at 
the  library,  and  to  inquire  for  letters  at  the  post- 
office.  Aggie  met  a  good  many  acquaintances 
— ^wbo  does  not,  who  has  lived  five  years  in  India 
in  the  same  district  ? 

Among  them  Mrs.  Starkey,  an  elderly  lady  with 
a  prominent  nose  and  goggle  eyes,  who  greeted 
her  loudly  across  the  reading-room  table,  in  this 
agreeable  fashion : 

"  And  so  you  have  come  up  after  all,  Mrs. 
Shandon.  Some  one  told  me  that  you  meant 
to  remain  below,  but  I  knew  you  never  could  be 
so  wicked  as  to  keep  your  poor  little  children  in 
that  heat."  Then  coming  round  and  dropping 
into  a  chair  beside  her,  she  said,  "  And  I  suppose 
this  young  lady  is  your  sister-in-law  ?  " 

Mrs.  Starkey  eyed  me  critically,  evidently  ap- 
praising my  chances  in  the  great  marriage 
market.  She  herself  had  settled  her  own  two 
daughters     most    satisfactorily,    and     had     now 

o 


1 8  "TO  let:* 

nothing    to    do,   but    interest    herself    in    other 
people's  affairs. 

"Yes,"  acquiesced  Aggie;  "Miss  Shandon  — 
Mrs.  Starkey." 

"  And  so  you  have  taken  Briarwood  ?  '* 

"  Yes,  we  have  been  most  lucky  to  get  it." 

*'  I  hope  you  will  think  so,  at  the  end  of  three 
months,"  observed  Mrs.  Starkey,  with  a  significant 
pursing  of  her  lips.  "  Mrs.  Chalmers  is  a  stranger 
up  here,  or  she  would  not  have  been  in  such  a 
hurry  to  jump  at  it." 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  it?"  inquired 
Aggie.  "It  is  well  built,  well  furnished,  well 
situated,  and  very  cheap." 

"  That's  just  it — suspiciously  cheap.  Why,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Shandon,  if  there  was  not  something 
against  it,  it  would  let  for  two  hundred  rupees  a 
month.     Common  sense  would  tell  you  that !  " 

"  And  what  is  against  it  ?  " 
"  It's  haunted !     There  you  have  the  reason  in 
two  words." 

"Is  that  all?     I  was  afraid  it  was  the  drains. 


"TO  LET*  19 

I  don't  believe  in  ghosts  and  haunted  houses. 
What  are  we  supposed  to  see  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  retorted  Mrs.  Starkey,  who  seemed 
a  good  deal  nettled  at  our  smiling  incredulity. 

**  Nothing  !  "  with  an  exasperating  laugh. 

"  No,  but  you  will  make  up  for  it  in  hearing. 
Not  now — you  are  all  right  for  the  next  six  weeka 
— but  after  the  monsoon  breaks,  I  give  you  a  week 
at  Briarwood.  No  one  would  stand  it  longer,  and 
indeed  you  might  as  well  bespeak  your  rooms  at 
Cooper's  Hotel  now.  There  is  always  a  rush  up 
here  in  July,  by  the  two  months'  leave  people,  and 
you  will  be  poked  into  some  wretched  go-down." 

Aggie  laughed,  rather  a  careless  ironical  little 
laugh,  and  said,  "  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Starkey ;  but 
I  think  we  will  stay  on  where  we  are — at  any 
rate  for  the  present." 

*'  Of  course  it  will  be  as  you  please.  What  do 
you  think  of  the  verandah  ?  "  she  inquired,  with 
a  curious  smile. 

"  I  think,  as  I  was  saying  to  Susan,  that  it  is 
worth  half  the  rent  of  the  house." 


20  "TO  let:* 

"  And  in  my  opinion  the  house  is  worth  double 
rent  without  it ;  "  and  with  this  enigmatic  remark, 
she  rose,  and  sailed  away. 

"  Horrid  old  frump !  "  exclaimed  Aggie,  as  we 
walked  home  in  the  starlight.  **  She  is  jealous 
and  angry  that  she  did  not  get  Briarwood  herself — 
I  know  her  so  well.  She  is  always  hinting,  and 
repeating  stories  about  the  nicest  people — always 
decrying  your  prettiest  dress,  or  your  best  servant." 

We  soon  forgot  all  about  Mrs.  Starkey,  and  her 
dismal  prophecy,  being  too  gay,  and  too  busy,  to 
give  her,  or  it,  a  thought.  We  had  so  many 
engagements  —  tennis-parties  and  tournaments, 
picnics,  concerts,  dances,  and  little  dinners.  We 
ourselves  gave  occasional  afternoon  teas  in  the 
verandah — using  the  best  spode  cups  and  saucers, 
and  the  old  silver  cake-basket — and  were  warmly 
complimented  on  our  good  fortune  in  securing  such 
a  charming  house  and  garden.  One  day  the 
children  discovered,  to  their  great  joy,  that  the  old  • 
chowkidar  belonging  to  the  bungalow  possessed 
an   African   grey   parrot — a   rare   bird   indeed   in 


To  LET*  21 

India;  he  had  a  battered  Europe  cage,  doubtless 
a  remnant  of  better  days,  and  swung  on  his  ring, 
looking  up  at  us  inquiringly,  out  of  his  impudent 
little  black  eyes. 

The  parrot  had  been  the  property  of  the  former 
inmates  of  Briarwood,  and  as  it  was  a  long-lived 
creature,  had  survived  its  master  and  mistress, 
and  was  boarded  out  with  the  chowkidar,  at  one 
rupee  per  month. 

The  chowkidar  willingly  carried  the  cage  into  the 
verandah,  where  the  bird  seemed  perfectly  at  home. 

We  got  a  little  table  for  its  cage,  and  the 
children  were  delighted  with  him,  as  he  swung  to 
and  fro,  with  a  bit  of  cake  in  his  wrinkled  claw. 

Presently  he  startled  us  all  by  suddenly  calling 
"Lucy,"  in  a  voice  that  was  as  distinct  as  if  it 
had  come  from  a  human  throat.  "  Pretty  Lucy — 
Lu— cy." 

"  That  must  have  been  the  niece,"  said  Aggie. 
"  I  expect  she  was  the  original  of  that  picture  over 
the  ohimney-piece  in  your  room ;  she  looks  like 
a  Lucy." 


2  2  *'T0   LET." 

It  was  a  large,  framed,  half-length  photograph  of 
a  very  pretty  girl,  in  a  white  dress,  with  gigantic 
open  sleeves.  The  ancient  parrot  talked  inces- 
santly now  that  he  had  been  restored  to  society;  he 
whistled  for  the  dogs,  and  brought  them  flying  to 
his  summons — to  his  great  satisfaction,  and  their 
equally  great  indignation.  He  called  *'  Qui  hye  " 
so  naturally,  in  a  lady's  shrill  soprano,  or  a  gruff 
male  bellow,  that  I  have  no  doubt  our  servants 
would  have  liked  to  have  wrung  his  neck.  He 
coughed  and  expectorated  like  an  old  gentleman, 
and  whined  like  a  puppy,  and  mewed  like  a  cat, 
and,  I  am  sorry  to  add,  sometimes  swore  like  a 
trooper ;  but  his  most  constant  cry  was,  "  Lucy, 
where  are  you,  pretty  Lucy — Lucy — Lu — cy  ?  " 
•  •  •  •  • 

Aggie  and  I  went  to  various  picnics,  but  to  that 
given  by  the  Chalmers  (in  honour  of  Mr.  Chalmers' 
brother  Charlie,  a  captain  in  a  Ghoorka  regiment, 
just  come  up  to  Kantia  on  leave)  Aggie  was  un- 
avoidably absent.  Tor  had  a  little  touch  of  fever, 
and  she  did  not  like  to  leave  him;   but  I  went 


"TO  LET."  23 

under  my  hostess's  care,  and  expected  to  enjoy 
myself  immensely.  Alas  !  on  that  selfsame  after- 
noon, the  long-expected  monsoon  broke,  and  we 
were  nearly  drowned !  We  rode  to  the  selected  spot, 
five  miles  from  Kantia,  laughing  and  chattering, 
indifferent  to  the  big  blue-black  clouds  that  came 
slowly,  but  surely,  sailing  up  from  below ;  it  was 
a  way  they  had  had  for  days,  and  nothing  had 
come  of  it !  We  spread  the  table-cloth,  boiled  the 
kettle,  unpacked  the  hampers,  in  spite  of  sharp 
gusts  of  wind  and  warning  rumbling  thunder. 
Just  as  we  had  commenced  to  reap  the  reward 
of  our  exertions,  there  fell  a  few  huge  drops, 
followed  by  a  vivid  flash,  and  then  a  tremendous 
crash  of  thunder,  like  a  whole  park  of  artillery,  that 
seemed  to  shake  the  mountains — and  after  this 
the  deluge.  In  less  than  a  minute  we  were  soaked 
through;  we  hastily  gathered  up  the  table-cloth 
by  its  four  ends,  gave  it  to  the  coolies,  and  fled. 
It  was  all  I  could  do  to  stand  against  the  wind; 
only  for  Captain  Chalmers  I  believe  I  would  have 
been  blown  away ;  as  it  was,  I  lost  my  hat,  it  was 


24  TO   LET." 

whirled  into  space.  Mrs.  Chalmers  lost  her  boa, 
and  Mrs.  Starkey,  not  merely  her  bonnet,  but 
some  portion  of  her  hair.  We  were  truly  in  a 
wretched  plight,  the  water  streaming  down  our 
faces,  and  squelching  in  our  boots ;  the  little 
trickling  mountain  rivulets  were  now  like  racing 
seas  of  turbid  water;  the  lightning  was  almost 
blinding ;  the  trees  rocked  dangerously,  and  lashed 
one  another  with  their  quivering  branches.  I  had 
never  been  out  in  such  a  storm  before,  and  sin- 
cerely hope  I  never  may  again.  We  reached  Kantia 
more  dead  than  alive,  and  Mrs.  Chalmers  sent  an 
express  to  Aggie,  and  kept  me  till  the  next  day. 
After  raining  as  it  only  can  rain  in  the  Himalayas, 
the  weather  cleared,  the  sun  shone,  and  I  rode 
home  in  borrowed  plumes,  full  of  my  adventures, 
and  in  the  highest  spirits.  I  found  Aggie  sitting 
over  the  fire  in  the  drawing-room,  looking  ghastly 
white  :  that  was  nothing  uncommon ;  but  terribly 
depressed,  which  was  most  unusual. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  neuralgia  ?  "  I  said,  as  I 
kissed  her. 


"TO  let:'  25 

She  nodded,  and  made  no  reply, 

**  How  is  Tor  ?  "  I  inquired,  as  I  drew  a  chair  up 
to  the  fire. 

"  Better— quite  well." 

**  Any  news — any  letter  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word — ^not  a  line." 

"  Has  anything  happened  to  Pip  " — Pip  was  a 
fox-terrier,  renowned  for  having  the  shortest  tail 
and  being  the  most  impertinent  dog  in  Lucknow — 
"  or  the  mongoose  ?  " 

"  No,  you  silly  girl !  Why  do  you  ask  such 
ridiculous  questions  ?  " 

**  I  was  afraid  something  was  amiss ;  you  seem 
rather  down  on  your  luck." 

Aggie  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  then  said, 
**  Pray,  what  put  such  an  absurd  idea  into  your 
head?  Tell  me  all  about  the  picnic,"  and  she 
began  to  talk  rapidly,  and  to  ask  me  various  ques- 
tions; but  I  observed  that  once  she  had  set  me 
going — no  difi&cult  task — her  attention  flagged,  her 
eyes  wandered  from  my  face  to  the  fire.  She  was 
not  listening  to  half  I  said,  and  my  most  thrilling 


26  "TO   LET." 

descriptions  were  utterly  lost  on  this  indifferent, 
abstracted  little  creature !  I  noticed  from  this 
time,  that  she  had  become  strangely  nervous  (for 
her).  She  invited  herself  to  the  share  of  half  my 
bed  ;  she  was  restless,  distrait,  and  even  irritable ; 
and  when  I  was  asked  out  to  sjjend  the  day,  dis- 
pensed with  my  company  with  an  alacrity  that 
was  by  no  means  flattering.  Formerly,  of  an 
evening  she  used  to  herd  the  children  home  at 
sundown,  and  tear  me  away  from  the  delights  of 
the  reading-room  at  seven  o'clock ;  now  she  hung 
about  the  library,  until  almost  the  last  moment, 
until  it  was  time  to  put  out  the  lamps,  and  kept 
the  children  with  her,  making  transparent  pretexts 
for  their  company.  Often  we  did  not  arrive  at 
home  till  half-past  eight  o'clock.  I  made  no 
objections  to  these  late  hours,  neither  did  Charlie 
Chalmers,  who  often  walked  back  with  us  and 
remained  to  dinner.  I  was  amazed  to  notice  that 
Aggie  seemed  delighted  to  have  his  company,  for 
she  had  always  expressed  a  rooted  aversion  to 
what  she  called  "  tame  young  men,"  and  here  was 


"TO  LEir  2^] 

this  new  acquaintance  dining  with  us,  at  least 
twice  a  week  ! 

About  a  month  after  the  picnic  we  had  a  spell 
of  dreadful  weather — thunderstorms  accompanied 
by  torrents.  One  pouring  afternoon,  Aggie  and  I 
were  cowering  over  the  drawing-room  fire,  whilst 
the  rain  came  fizzing  down  among  the  logs,  and 
ran  in  rivers  off  the  roof,  and  out  of  the 
spouts.  There  had  been  no  going  out  that  day, 
and  we  were  feeling  rather  flat  and  dull,  as  we  sat 
in  a  kind  of  ghostly  twilight,  with  all  outdoor 
objects  swallowed  up  in  mist,  listening  to  the 
violent  battering  of  the  rain  on  the  zinc  verandah, 
and  the  storm  which  was  growling  round  the  hills. 
**  Oh,  for  a  visitor!"  I  exclaimed;  "but  no  one 
but  a  fish,  or  a  lunatic,  would  be  out  on  such  an 
evening." 

"  No  one,  indeed,"  echoed  Aggie,  in  a  melancholy 
tone.  "We  may  as  well  draw  the  curtains,  and 
have  in  the  lamp  and  tea  to  cheer  us  up." 

She  had  scarcely  finished  speaking,  when  I 
heard  the  brisk  trot  of  a  horse  along  the  road. 


28  "TO   LET." 

It  stopped  at  the  gate,  and  came  rapidly  down 
our  avenue.  I  heard  the  wet  gravel  crunching 
under  his  hoofs,  and — yes,  a  man's  cheery  whistle. 
My  heart  jumped,  and  I  half  rose  from  my  chair. 
It  must  be  Charlie  Chalmers  braving  the  elements 
to  see  me! — such,  I  must  confess,  was  my  in- 
credible vanity !  He  did  not  stop  at  the  front 
door  as  usual,  but  rode  straight  into  the  verandah, 
which  aflforded  ample  room,  and  shelter  for  half 
a  dozen  mounted  men. 

"Aggie,"  I  said  eagerly,  "do  you  hear?  It 
must  be " 

I  paused,  my  tongue  silenced,  by  the  awful 
pallor  of  her  face,  and  the  expression  of  her  eyes, 
as  she  sat  with  her  little  hands  clutching  the 
arms  of  her  chair,  and  her  whole  figure  bent 
forward  in  an  attitude  of  listening — an  attitude 
of  rigid  terror. 

"What  is  it,  Aggie?"  I  said.  "Are  you 
ill?" 

As  I  spoke,  the  horse's  hoofs  made  a  loud 
clattering   noise    on    the    stone-paved    verandah 


"TO  let:'  29 

outside,  and  a  man's  voice — a  young  man's  eager 
voice — called,  "  Lucy." 

Instantly  a  chair  near  the  writing-table  was 
pushed  back,  and  some  one  went  quickly  to  the 
window — a  French  one — and  bungled  for  a  moment 
with  the  fastening.  I  always  had  a  difficulty  with 
that  window  myself.  Aggie  and  I  were  within 
the  bright  circle  of  the  firelight,  but  the  rest 
of  the  room  was  dim,  and  outside  the  streaming 
grey  sky  was  spasmodically  illuminated  by  occa- 
sional vivid  flashes,  that  lit  up  the  surrounding 
hills  as  if  it  were  daylight.  The  trampling  of 
impatient  hoofs,  and  the  rattling  of  a  door-handle, 
were  the  only  sounds  that  were  audible  for  a  few 
breathless  seconds ;  but  during  those  seconds 
Pip,  bristling  like  a  porcupine,  and  trembling 
violently  in  every  joint,  had  sprung  off  my  lap 
and  crawled  abjectly  under  Agg'e's  chair,  seemingly 
in  a  transport  of  fear.  The  door  was  opened 
audibly,  and  a  cold,  icy  blast  swept  in,  that 
seemed  to  freeze  my  very  heart, .  and  made  me 
shiver  from  head  to  foot.     At  this  moment  there 


30  "rO   LET."* 

came,  with  a  sinister  blue  glare,  the  most  vivid 
flash  of  lightning  I  ever  saw.  It  lit  up  the 
whole  room,  which  was  empty  save  for  ourselves, 
and  was  instantly  followed  by  a  clap  of  thunder, 
that  caused  my  knees  to  knock  together,  and  that 
terrified  me  and  filled  me  with  horror.  It  evi- 
dently terrified  the  horse  too ;  there  was  a  violent 
plunge,  a  clattering  of  hoofs  on  the  stones,  a 
sudden  loud  crash  of  smashing  timber,  a  woman's 
long,  loud,  piercing  shriek,  which  stopped  the 
very  beating  of  my  heart,  and  then  a  frenzied 
struggle  in  the  cruel,  crumbling,  treacherous 
shale,  the  rattle  of  loose  stones,  and  the  hollow 
roar  of  something  sliding  down  the  precipice. 

I  rushed  to  the  door  and  tore  it  open,  with  that 
awful  despairing  cry  still  ringing  in  my  ears. 
The  verandah  was  empty;  there  was  not  a  soul 
to  be  seen,  or  a  sound  to  be  heard,  save  the  rain 
on  the  roof. 

"Aggie,"  I  screamed,  "come  here!  Some 
one  has  gone  over  the  verandah,  and  down  the 
khud !     You  heard  him." 


"TO  LET."*  31 

"Yes,"  she  said,  following  me  out;  "but  come 
in — come  in." 

"  I  believe  it  was  Charlie  Chalmers  " — shaking 
her  violently  as  I  spoke.  "  He  has  been  killed — 
killed — killed !  And  you  stand,  and  do  nothing. 
Send  people  !  Let  us  go  ourselves  !  Bearer  ! 
Ayah  !  Khidmatgar !  "  I  cried,  raising  my  voice. 

"  Hush !  It  was  not  Charlie  Chalmers,"  she 
said,  vainly  endeavouring  to  draw  me  into  the 
drawing-room.     "  Come  in — come  in." 

"  No,  no  !  "  pushing  her  away,  and  wringing  my 
hands.  "  How  cruel  you  are  !  How  inhuman  ! 
There  is  a  path.     Let  us  go  at  once — at  once !  " 

"  You  need  not  trouble  yourself,  Susan,"  she 
interrupted ;  "  and  you  need  not  cry  and  tremble ; 
— they  will  bring  him  up.  "What  you  heard  was 
Bupernatural ;  it  was  not  real." 

"  No — no — no  !  It  was  aU  real.  Oh !  that 
Bcream  is  in  my  ears  still." 

"  I  will  convince  you,"  said  Aggie,  taking  my 
hand  as  she  spoke.  "  Feel  all  along  the  verandah. 
Are  the  railings  broken  ?  " 


32  "TO  let:' 

I  did  as  she  bade  me.  No,  though  very  wet, 
and  clammy,  the  railing  was  intact  1 

**  Where  is  the  broken  place  ? "  she  asked, 
imperatively. 

Where,  indeed? 

**  Now,"  she  continued,  "  since  you  will  not 
come  in,  look  over,  and  you  will  see  something 
more  presently." 

Shivering  with  fear,  and  the  cold,  drifting  rain, 
I  gazed  down  as  she  bade  me,  and  there,  far 
below,  I  saw  lights  moving  rapidly  to  and  fro, 
evidently  in  search  of  something.  After  a  little 
delay  they  congregated  in  one  place.  There  was 
a  low,  buzzing  murmur — they  had  found  him — 
and  presently  they  commenced  to  ascend  the  hill, 
with  the  "  hum-hum  "  of  coolies  carrying  a  burden. 
Nearer  and  nearer  the  lights  and  sounds  came; 
up  to  the  very  brink  of  the  khud,  past  the  end 
of  the  verandah.  Many  steps  and  many  torches 
— faint  blue  torches  held  by  invisible  hands — 
invisible  but  heavy-footed  bearers  carried  their 
burden   slowly  upstairs,  and   along  the   passage. 


"TO  LET."  2)Z 

and  deposited  it  with  a  dump  in  Aggie's  bedroom  I 
As  we  stood  clasped  in  one  another's  arms,  and 
shaking  all  over,  the  steps  descended,  the  ghostly 
lights  passed  up  the  avenue,  and  gradually  dis- 
appeared in  the  gathering  darkness.  The  repetition 
of  the  tragedy  was  over  for  that  day. 

**  Have  you  heard  it  before  ? "  I  asked  with 
chattering  teeth,  as  I  bolted  the  drawing-room 
window. 

"  Yes,  the  evening  of  the  picnic,  and  twice  since. 
That  is  the  reason  I  have  always  tried  to  stay 
out  till  late,  and  to  keep  you  out.  I  was  hoping 
and  praying  you  might  never  hear  it.  It  always 
happens  just  before  dark :  I  am  afraid  you  have 
thought  me  very  queer  of  late.  I  have  told  no 
end  of  stories  to  keep  you  and  the  children  from 
harm.     I  have " 

"I  think  you  have  been  very  kind,"  I  inter- 
rupted. *'  Oh,  Aggie,  shall  you  ever  get  that 
crash,  and  that  awful  cry  out  of  your  head  ?  " 

"Never!"  hastily  lighting  the  caudles  as  she 
spoke. 


34  '*T0  LET.'' 

"Is  tbere  anything  more?"  I  inquired 
tremulously. 

**  Yes ;  sometimes  ai  night,  the  most  terrible 
weeping  and  sobbing  in  my  bedroom ; "  and  she 
shuddered  at  the  mere  recollection. 

"  Do  the  servants  know  ?  "  I  asked  anxiously. 

"  The  ayah  Muma  has  heard  it,  and  the  khan- 
samah  says  his  mother  is  sick,  and  he  must  go, 
and  the  bearer  wants  to  attend  his  brother's 
wedding.     They  will  all  leave." 

"  I  suppose  most  people  know  too  ? "  I  sug- 
gested dejectedly. 

"Yes;  don't  you  remember  Mrs.  Starkey's  warn- 
ings, and  her  saying  that  without  the  verandah 
the  house  was  worth  double  rent  ?  We  under- 
stand that  dark  speech  of  hers  now,  and  we  have 
not  come  to  Cooper's  Hotel  yet." 

**  No,  not  yet.  I  wish  we  had.  I  wonder  what 
Tom  will  say?  He  will  be  here  in  another  fort- 
night.    Oh,  I  wish  he  was  here  now  !  " 

In  spite  of  our  heart-shaking  experience,  we 
managed  to  eat,  and  drink,  and  sleep,  yea,  to  play 


To  let:'  35 

tennis — somewhat  solemnly,  it  is  true — and  go 
to  the  club,  where  we  remained  to  the  very  la&t 
moment ;  needless  to  mention,  that  I  now  entered 
into  Aggie's  manoeuvre  con  amove.  Mrs.  Starkey 
evidently  divined  the  reason  of  our  loitering  in 
Kantia,  and  said  in  her  most  truculent  manner, 
as  she  squared  up  to  us — 

"You  keep  your  children  out  very  late,  Mrs. 
Shandon." 

**  Yes,  but  we  Hke  to  have  them  with  us,"  re- 
joined Aggie,  in  a  meek  apologetic  voice. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  go  home  earlier  ?  " 

"Because  it  is  so  stupid,  and  lonely,"  was  the 
mendacious  answer. 

"Lonely  is  not  the  word  I  should  use.  I 
wonder  if  you  are  as  wise  as  your  neighbours 
now  ?     Come  now,  Mrs.  Shandon." 

"About  what?"  said  Aggie,  with  ill-feigned 
iunocence. 

"  About  Briarwood.  Haven't  you  hear^  it  yet  ? 
The  ghastly  precipice  and  horse  affair  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  suppose  we  may  as  well  confess  that 
we  have." 


36  "TO  let:- 

"  Humph !  you  are  a  brave  couple  to  stay  on. 
The  Tombs  tried  it  last  year  for  three  weeks. 
The  Paxtons  took  it  the  year  before,  and  then 
sub-let  it ;  not  that  they  believed  in  ghosts — oh, 
dear  no  !  "  and  she  laughed  ironically. 

"  And  what  is  the  story  ?  "  I  inquired  eagerly. 

'*  Well,  the  story  is  this.  An  old  retired  officer 
and  his  wife,  and  their  pretty  niece,  lived  at  Briar- 
wood  a  good  many  years  ago.  The  girl  was  en- 
gaged to  be  married  to  a  fine  young  fellow  in  the 
Guides.  The  day  before  the  wedding,  what  you 
know  of  happened,  and  has  happened  every  mon- 
soon ever  since.  The  poor  girl  went  out  of  her 
mind,  and  destroyed  herself,  and  the  old  colonel 
and  his  wife  did  not  long  survive  her.  The  house 
is  uninhabitable  in  the  monsoon,  and  there  seems 
nothing  for  it  but  to  auction  off  the  furniture,  and 
pull  it  down ;  it  will  always  be  the  same  as  long 
as  it  stands.  Take  my  advice,  and  come  into 
Cooper's  Hotel.  I  believe  you  can  have  that 
small  set  of  rooms  at  the  back.  The  sitting* 
room  smokes — but  beggars  can't  be  choosers." 


"TO  LhTr  37 

"  That  will  only  be  our  very  last  resource," 
said  Aggie,  hotly. 

**  It's  not  very  grand,  I  grant  you ;  but  any  port 
in  a  storm." 

Tom  arrived,  was  doubly  welcome,  and  was 
charmed  with  Briarwood,  chaffed  us  unmerci- 
fully, and  derided  our  fears  until  Ifie  himself  had 
a  similar  experience,  and  heard  the  phantom 
horse  plunging  in  the  verandah,  and  that  wild, 
unearthly  and  utterly  appalling  shriek.  No,  he 
could  not  laugh  that  away ;  and  seeing  that  we 
had  now  a  mortal  abhorrence  of  the  place,  that 
the  children  had  to  be  kept  abroad  in  the  damp 
till  long  after  dark,  that  Aggie  was  a  mere  hollow- 
eyed  spectre,  and  that  we  had  scarcely  a  servant 
left,  that — in  short,  one  day,  we  packed  up  pre- 
cipitately and  fled  in  a  body  to  Cooper's  Hotel. 
But  we  did  not  basely  endeavour  to  sub-let,  nor 
advertise  Briarwood  as  "  a  delightfully  situated 
pucka  built  house,  containing  all  the  requirements 
of  a  gentleman's  family."  No,  no.  Tom  bore  the 
loss  of  the  rent,  and — a  more  dif&cult  feat — Aggie 


38  "TO   LETr 

bore    Mrs.    Starkey's    insufferable    "I    told    you 
so." 

Aggie  was  at  Kantia  again  last  season.  She 
walked  out  early  one  morning  to  see  our  former 
abode.  The  chowkidar  and  parrot  are  still  in 
possession,  and  are  likely  to  remain  the  solo 
tenants  on  the  premises.  The  parrot  suns  and 
dusts  his  ancient  feathers  in  the  empty  verandah, 
which  re-echoes  with  his  cry  of  "  Lucy,  where  are 
you — pretty  Lucy  ? "  The  chowkidar  inhabits  a 
secluded  go-down  at  the  back,  where  he  passes 
most  of  the  day  in  sleeping,  or  smoking  the 
soothing  "  huka."  The  place  has  a  forlorn,  un- 
cared-for appearance  now  ;  the  flowers  are  nearly 
all  gone;  the  paint  has  peeled  off  the  doors  and 
windows;  the  avenue  is  grass-grown.  Briarwood 
appears  to  have  resigned  itself  to  emptiness, 
neglect,  and  decay,  although  outside  the  gate 
there  still  hangs  a  battered  board,  on  which,  if 
you  look  very  closely,  you  can  decipher  the  words 
"  To  Letr 


Mas.  RAYMOND. 

"I  am  just  going  to  leap  into  the  dark." — Babelau. 

CHAPTEE  I. 

We  had  come  home  from  India  on  three  months' 
furlough,  taking  return  tickets,  and,  after  the 
manner  of  Anglo-Indians,  stayed  to  the  very  last 
moment  of  our  leave ;  in  fact,  if  the  cab  that 
conveyed  us  across  Paris,  from  the  Gare-de-POuest 
to  the  Gare-de-Lyons,  had  broken  down — a  not 
impossible  contingency,  for  our  cocher  was  drunk 
— we  would  have  missed  not  merely  our  train, 
but  our  steamer,  and  Charles  would  have  had 
to  forfeit  I  don't  know  how  much  pay,  and  go  to 
the  bottom  of  his  grade. 

Charles  is  in  the  Civil  Service ;  we  are  middle- 
aged  people  without  any  family,  and  are  com- 
fortably off,  and  think  very  little  of  running  home. 


40  MliS.   RAYMOND. 

We  were  just  in  time  to  get  our  luggage  weighed, 
swallow  some  soup,  and  climb  into  the  carriage 
ere  it  started.  We  rattled  through  France  all 
night ;  next  afternoon  we  were  at  Turin ;  that 
same  evening,  cramped  with  two  days'  sitting  in 
the  train,  and  nearly  black  with  dust,  we  found 
ourselves  in  Genoa.  *'  No  time  to  go  to  the 
hotel,"  was  the  unwelcome  intelligence ;  **  we 
must  go  on  board  at  once."  Our  steamer  lay  off 
in  the  harbour,  and  sailed  in  two  hours. 

"  Just  touch  and  go,"  grumbled  Charles ; 
"never  saw  such  a  shave.  All  your  fault, 
Louisa." 

Charles  was  put  out.  He  wanted  to  have  a 
tub  and  his  dinner ;  and,  moreover,  he  hated  to  be 
fussed  and  driven  about  by  porters,  being  accus- 
tomed to  the  grand  leisure  of  an  important  Indian 
official.  I  never  argue  with  Charles  when  he  is 
hungry,  therefore  I  scrambled  out  of  the  boat  in 
silence,  and  went  to  my  own  cabin — secured  months 
previously.  I  wondered  if  any  of  our  friends  had 
turned  up  ?     Colonel  and  Mrs.  Hatton  were  going 


MRS.   SATMOND.  4 1 

back  in  our  steamer,  Mrs.  Clapp,  and  young 
Brownlow  of  the  Secretariat,  who  had  come  home 
■with  us.  We  would  be  a  nice  little  party,  and 
all  sit  at  the  same  table.  When  I  was  dressed 
I  went  up  on  deck ;  it  looked  crowded,  and  I  was 
immediately  accosted  by  half  a  dozen  Indian 
friends,  and  soon  engaged  in  exchanging  items 
of  news.  It  was  a  bright  starlight  night,  and 
Genoa  looked  lovely,  rising  from  her  harbour, 
but  it  was  unpleasantly  chilly.  I  was  afraid  of 
my  neuralgia,  and  presently  beat  a  retreat  down- 
stairs, and  seated  myself  at  a  central  table  with 
my  gold  eye-glasses  and  blotter,  and  began  to 
write  a  letter.  As  I  sat  there  alone,  listening  to 
the  tramping  overhead — the  sailors  weighing 
anchor— I  heard  a  saloon  door  clap,  and  some 
one  came  over  and  took  a  seat  directly  opposite 
me,  with  the  evident  intention  of  sharing  the 
saloon  inkstand.  I  am  rather  near-sighted,  and 
peered  across  the  table  over  my  spectacles,  and 
saw  a  strikingly  handsome  man,  who  was  delibe- 
rately   opening    his    writing-case.       Dark,    with 


42  MBS.   BAYMOND. 

regular  features,  black  hair  and  moustache,  and 
slender  hands.  He  looked  at  me  searchingly.  His 
eyes  were  the  keenest  I  ever  saw ;  rather  narrow, 
but  piercing  as  cold  steel.  We  both  wrote  away 
industriously  for  some  time  in  dread  silence,  and 
then  he  addressed  me  with  some  little  civility 
about  the  ink.  He  had  a  well-bred  voice,  and  a 
slightly  foreign  accent.  We  discussed  the  dust 
of  the  journey,  the  beauty  of  the  night — for  I  am 
not  of  the  usual  order  of  ancient  British  matrons, 
and  when  I  am  spoken  to  politely,  I  reply  in  kind. 
This  gentleman  was  more  than  polite;  he  was 
absolutely  fascinating.  From  Genoa  we  drifted 
to  India,  but  he  and  I  had  never  been  in  the 
same  parts,  and,  after  all,  we  had  not  much  in 
common  beyond  Bombay. 

"You  know  India  well?"  he  inquired  insinu- 
atingly. 

"I  cannot  say  that,"  I  rejoined;  "but  I  have 
been  in  India  for  many  years.  I  know  it  super- 
ficially, and  from  the  European  standpoint." 

I  fished  clumsily,  and  in  vain,  to  discover  what 


MRS.   RAYMOND.  43 

he  was.  An  officer  ?  no,  he  was  not  like  one. 
A  civilian  ?  a  traveller  ?  but  he  parried  all  my 
queries  with  an  ease  and  politeness  that  was 
actually  amusing.  How  clever  he  was !  I  felt 
myself  a  mere  child  in  his  hands.  In  a  few 
moments,  he  had  extracted  from  me  my  husband's 
position,  residence,  length  of  service,  prospects. 
I  believe  that,  if  he  had  chosen  to  ask,  I  would 
have  told  him  the  amount  of  our  ages,  income, 
and  savings.  He  was  so  very  agreeable,  and  so 
■exceptionally  interested  in  me  and  my  affairs,  that 
I  was  led  away  to  forget  that  I  was  now  a  stout 
elderly  woman  of  forty-five,  and,  alas !  no  longer 
the  station  belle  I  once  had  been.  Presently  brisk 
voices  and  steps  were  heard  descending  the  com- 
panion ladder.  Enter  Charles,  looking  blue  with 
cold,  but  in  an  excellent  temper.  I  saw  it  in  his 
eye.  He  has  met  Buffer,  the  Sudder  Judge,  of 
Kuloo,  a  first-rate  whist-player — whist  is  Charles's 
passion — and  they  are  going  to  have  a  split  whisky 
peg  between  them,  as  they  discuss  assessment  of 
land — Charles's    hobby.      Mrs.    Sharpe,    an    old 


44  -Sf^'S'.    RAYMOND. 

neighbour  of  mine,  a  plain  but  clever  little 
woman,  and  known  as  "  Becky,"  sidled  into  a 
place  beside  me,  and  took  a  good  long  look  at  my 
opposite  neighbour.  The  tables  were  filling  fast, 
and  people  were  calling  for  lemonade  and  soda- 
water,  for  it  was  after  nine  o'clock.  In  the  lamp- 
light I  recognized  a  good  many  familiar  faces. 
The  Brownes  of  Dodeypore;  the  Goodwins  of 
Punea;  Major  Caraway  of  the  Pioneers  (with  a 
bride).  How  smart  every  one  looked,  especially 
the  young  girls,  and  young  married  women !  What 
a  change  it  makes  in  some  of  my  friends,  a  run 
home !  Where  is  the  old  jacket,  the  joke  of  the 
station?  Where  is  Mrs.  Mills'  celebrated  black 
hat  ?  I  would  hardly  recognize  her.  She  wears 
a  fringe;  she  has  had  something  done  to  her 
teeth  ;  she  has  quite  a  pretty  figure  !  Who  would 
believe  she  was  the  dowdy  creature  I  saw  at 
Cheetapore  last  July  ?  Besides  these  well-known 
faces,  are  many  strange  ones  —  globe  -  trotters, 
Americans,  French,  and  English,  going  out  to  stay 
with  friends,  or  to  do  the  cold  weather  in  India, 


MBS.   RAYMOND.  45 

Those  ■who  sit  at  our  table  are  no  doubt  impressed 
by  our  intimacy  and  jargon.  Mrs.  Sharpe  always 
interlards  her  conversation  with  Hindostani,  and 
speaks  of  her  children  at  school  as  my  "  butchas ; " 
**and  as  to  going  home  again  for  only  three 
months,  as  you,  Mrs.  Paulet"  (to  me),  "per- 
suaded me  into  doing,  *cubbi-nay,  cubbi-nay, 
cubbi-nay,*  " — i.e.  "  never,  never,  never  again." 

The  dark  stranger  opposite  looked  amused,  and 
then  she  said,  "  What  do  you  think  !  I  hear  there 
is  a  native  prince  on  board,  enormously  wealthy, 
and  travelling  with  part  of  his  Zenana,  and  all 
his  jewels ! " 

The  dark  stranger  still  kept  his  eyes  on  her, 
but  the  expression  of  amusement  died  out  of  his 
face,  and  he  suddenly  resumed  his  writing. 

**  Who  told  you  so  ?  "  I  asked. 

"My  maid,"  she  answered  triumphantly. 
"  You  know  I  am  taking  one  out ;  I  really 
found  that  I  could  not  exist  without  a  European 
servant." 

**  You  will  have  to  do  so,  all  the  same,"  I  re- 


46  HJnS.    RAYMOND. 

joined,  "  for  if  slie  is  at  all  good-lookiug,  and 
under  fifty,  she  is  bound  to  marry  a  soldier." 

"  Oh,  Dobbs  would  not  look  at  a  soldier ! " 
retorted  her  mistress  indignantly;  "she  is  much 
too  grand !  " 

*'  Wait  till  you  see,"  I  replied.  "I  have  had  two, 
and  they  were  two  too  many ;  so  particular  about 
their  meals,  always  complaining  of  native  servants 
and  of  want  of  society,  insisting  on  going  to 
sergeants'  balls,  and  finally  wheedling  me  out 
of  a  wedding  breakfast.  No,  give  me  an  honest 
elderly  ayah,  with  no  family,  and  followers." 

"Who  wears  tight  calico  trousers,  and  smokes 
a  huka,"  she  sneered. 

"  And  welcome  to  both,  my  dear,  as  long  as  I 
never  see  them,"  I  answered,  as  I  rose  and  said 
good  night. 

The  next  morning  I  went  on  deck  before  break- 
fast; there  was  a  faint  fresh  breeze,  but  the  sky 
and  water  were  both  blue,  the  latter  as  smooth  as 
a  lake.  We  were  passing  quite  close  to  the  beau- 
tiful coast  of  Italy,  and  meeting  various  fishing- 


MRS.   RAYMOND.  47 

boats,  and  small  coasting  steamers.  As  I  turned 
to  search  for  my  deck-chair,  I  was  saluted  by  the 
stranger,  as  I  mentally  called  him. 

And  now,  in  the  full  broad  daylight,  instead  of 
the  dim  swinging  lamps,  I  saw,  with  the  eye  of 
an  old  Qui  Hye,  that  he  was  undoubtedly  a  native 
of  India.  Yes,  although  possibly  fairer- skinned 
than  thousands  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  shores  we 
were  passing,  he  was  an  Asiatic,  without  question ; 
very  handsome  also,  without  doubt,  with  perfectly 
chiselled  features,  and  a  broader  chest  and 
shoulders,  and  a  finer  physique  than  one  generally 
sees. 

"  A  lovely  morning ;  may  I  bring  your  chair 
under  the  awning?"  he  inquired,  in  a  most 
deferential  manner. 

"Yes,  and  a  lovely  scene,"  I  responded,  as  I 
seated  myself. 

**  It  is.  I  am  very  fond  of  Italy ;  are  not 
you?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  should  be,  if  I  knew  it  well,  but 
all  my  travelling  has  been   in  India.     When  my 


48  MllS.   RAYMOND. 

husband  retires  we  hope  to  see  something  of 
Europe." 

"  I  have  what  is  called  'done'  Europe — France, 
Germany,  Switzerland,  Italy,  Spain." 

"  And  to  what  country  do  you  give  the  palm  ?  " 

"  For  country,  Italy  ;  as  a  city,  Paris.  London 
is  too  foggy,  too  straggling." 

*'  Then  you  will  enjoy  a  winter  in  India." 

"  Yes,  it  is  three  ye.irs  since  I  was  there."  He 
pronounced  his  w'q  as  v's,  the  only  way  in  which 
jou  could  have  discovered  that  he  was  a  foreigner. 

"  How  well  you  speak  English !  "  I  remarked. 

"Then  you  have  detected  that  I  am  not  an 
Englishman,"  he  said,  with  evident  surprise. 

**  Yes." 

*'  Of  what  country  do  you  think  I  am  a  native  ?  " 

**  Asia — possibly  India,  or  Persia,"  I  ventured. 

**  Why  ? — why  not  a  Spaniard,  an  Italian,  a 
South  American,  or  a  Greek  ?  " 

**  Yes,  you  might  be  a  Greek,  or  an  Armenian, 
but  all  the  same  I  think  you  were  born  further 
East."  I  had  not  been  nineteen  years  in  India 
for  nothing ! 


MRS.   RAYMOND.  49 

**You  are  right,"  he  admitted  with  an  indulgent 
smile.  "My  mother  was  a  Persian,  but  I  have 
been  much  in  Europe.  I  was  partly  educated  in 
England." 

I  was  scarcely  listening  to  him ;  my  attention 
was  riveted  on  a  lovely  girl,  who  had  just  reached 
the  top  of  the  companion-ladder,  and  was  looking 
timidly  about.  Suddenly  she  caught  sight  of  my 
new  acquaintance,  and  came  towards  us,  with  short 
hurried  steps. 

She  appeared  to  be  about  twenty  years  of  age, 
was  slight,  and  of  middle  height,  and  wore  an 
elaborately  made  white  dress  and  a  sailor  hat, 
underneath  which  was  the  prettiest  face  I  had 
ever  seen.  Her  complexion  was  simply  marvellous 
— pure  milk  and  roses ;  her  eyes,  the  colour  of  the 
sky,  with  long  black  lashes  ;  her  hair  was  really 
fair,  with  flaxen  and  golden  shades  through  it. 
I  could  not  take  my  eyes  off  her.  As  she  came 
up  to  my  companion,  she  said  with  an  apologetic 
glance — 

**  You  see,  I  found  my  way  on  deck  myself." 

■ 


50  MBS.   RAYMOND. 

"Yes,  BO  I  see,"  he  answered,  in  a  not  par- 
ticularly genial  tone. 

**  The  cabin  was  so  stuffy,  and  I  longed  for  a 
breath  of  the  sea  air,"  she  continued,  with  plead- 
ing eyes. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  suddenly  turning  to  mc, 
**  may  I  introduce  my  wife — Mrs.  Eaymond  ?  " 

His  wife  ?  I  was  so  taken  aback,  that  for  a 
second  I  was  speechless  with  astonishment,  and 
then  I  said,  as  I  held  out  my  hand — 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Eaymond  ?  Your  first 
trip  to  India,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  with  rather  a  tremor  in 
her  voice ;  "it  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  been 
from  home." 

**  Ah,  and  I  dare  say  you  are  a  little  home- 
sick." 

**  It  is  not  so  bad  as  being  sea-sick,"  remarked 
her  husband,  unsympathetically.  * '  She  has  never 
experienced  that  yet." 

**  Oh  yes,  once — long  ago  on  the  Clyde — I  was 
ftwfully  sick,"  she  protested. 


MSB.    RAYMOND.  5 1 

Now  that  I  came  to  look  closely  at  Mrs.  Eay- 
mond,  and  to  hear  her  speak,  I  was  aware  that, 
although  she  was  a  strikingly  beautiful  girl,  she 
was  not  quite  a  lady ;  something  in  her  voice  and 
her  carriage  was  wanting.  She  held  herself 
badly;  her  hands  were  large,  though  adorned  by 
superb  diamond  rings.  Yes,  I,  Louisa  Paulet, 
who  rather  prided  myself  on  my  diamond  rings, 
had  not  one  that  could  compare  with  the  least  of 
those  on- this  girl's  ugly  fingers. 

"Do  you  think  it  will  be  like  this  all  the 
way  ?  "  she  asked,  nervously  twisting  these  fingers. 

*'  I  hope  so,  for  my  own  sake  and  yours ;  but 
at  any  rate,  let  us  make  the  best  of  the  present 
moment.     There  is  the  breakfast  bell  at  last !  " 

As  cheerful,  hungry  crowds  came  flocking  to  the 
different  tables  (where  they  had  previously  placed 
their  visiting  cards),  I  was  rather  surprised  to  see 
the  Raymonds  take  seats  almost  opposite  to  me. 
He  had  been  beforehand  with  Major  and  Mrs. 
Barker,  of  the  Nizam's  horse,  and  the  Barkers 
had  to  go  among  the  Americans  at  table  number 


52  MliS.   liATMOND. 

two — outcasts  from  the  congenial  society  of  their 
Anglo-Indian  friends. 

I  considered  Mr.  Raymond's  manoeuvre  was 
rather  pushing.  Surely  he  might  have  seen  that 
we  had  made  up  a  party,  and  that  he  would  be 
de  trop.  And  all  tables  were  alike  to  him — so  I 
thought  then.  This  was  the  humdrum  married 
people's  table ;  number  two  was  American  and 
French ;  number  three  was  surrounded  by  gay 
bachelors,  grass  widows,  and  brides  and  bride- 
grooms. There  was  more  "  go "  about  it  than 
the  other  two  put  together.  Why  had  not  Mr. 
Raymond  established  himself  there  ? 

I  received  his  advances  with  mustard,  sugar, 
butter,  and  salt  with  marked  coldness,  and  in  my 
most  freezing  "Burra  mem  Sahib"  manner.  But 
who  could  be  stiff  with  a  pair  of  piteous  forget-me- 
not  blue  eyes  wistfully  appealing  to  them  ?  The 
Raymonds  were  a  strikingly  handsome  couple ; 
he  with  his  dark  resolute  face,  she  with  her 
wonderful  fair  beauty.  She  had  already  been 
noted,  for   many  heads   were  bent   forward,   and 


MRS.    RAYMOND.  53 

glances  sent  in  her  direction,  and  whispered  com- 
ments made.  They  both  joined  in  conversation, 
he  particularly,  and  showed  himself  to  be  a  clever, 
agreeable,  well-informed  man.  There  was  ap- 
parently no  topic  on  which  he  had  not  formed  an 
opinion — from  the  Irish  question,  and  the  new 
magazine  rifle,  down  to  the  last  style  of  dressing 
the  hair.  She  did  not  talk  much,  and  seemed 
perplexed  at  the  menu,  especially  the  "  anti-pasto." 
I  saw  her  skin  an  olive  and  taste  it,  and  make  a 
face ;  she  scraped  her  plate  with  her  knife,  and 
drank  with  her  s^Doon  in  her  cup.  No,  no,  no,  she 
was  not  a  lady.  I  noticed  that  she  looked  behind 
her,  and  up  and  down  the  table  rather  furtively, 
and  seemed  transparently  pleased  to  be  one  of 
Buch  a  large  and  lively  community.  Possibly  she 
had  never  been  in  such  good  society  in  all  her 
Ufe. 


(    54    ) 


CHAPTEE  II. 

The  weather  was  perfect,  the  sea  like  a  millpond, 
as  we  coasted  down  to  Naples.  The  Eaymonds 
kept  very  much  to  themselves.  They  would  sit 
side  by  side  for  hours  in  their  two  chairs,  with 
the  same  rug  across  their  knees,  whilst  she  read 
or  did  fancy-work,  and  he  dozed  and  smoked. 
After  dinner  they  paced  the  deck  arm-in-arm,  and 
only  mixed  with  their  fellow-passengers  at  meals. 
They  seemed  quite  a  devoted  couple,  and  when  I 
remarked  this  to  Becky  Sharpe,  that  lively  lady 
exclaimed,  "  Devoted !  "Where  are  your  dear  old 
eyes?  She  is  the  acknowledged  belle  on  board, 
though  I  can't  see  myself  what  all  the  men  are 
raving  about.  She  reminds  me  exactly  of  one  of 
those  coloured  pictures  on  a  chocolate  box — very 
pink  cheeks,  very  blue  eyes,  very  yellow  hair.     He 


MLS.   RAYMOND,  55  ' 

is  as  jealous  as  a  Turk.  No  man  dare  approach 
her.  He  never  leaves  her  by  herself  for  one 
second;  they  sit  half  the  day  under  a  big  um- 
brella, and  at  table  are  flanked  and  faced  by  old 
married  people.  He  won't  allow  her  to  join  in 
any  games  after  dinner,  poor  girl,  and  packs  her 
off  to  her  cabin  at  eight  o'clock.  Do  you  mean 
to  say  you  have  not  noticed  this  ?  Why,  it  is 
the  talk  of  the  ship  ! " 

I  had  not  noticed  it,  but  I  now  began  to  see 
that  there  was  something  in  Mrs.  Sharpe's 
remarks,  even  allowing  for  her  exaggeration.  I 
never  saw  a  man  speak  to  Mrs.  Raymond,  I  never 
saw  her  husband  quit  her  side,  and  I  observed 
that,  although  he  was  in  the  saloon  of  an 
evening,  playing  whist  and  other  games,  she 
was  not  there;  and  once  she  said  to  me  at 
table — 

"Do  all  the  ladies  go  to  their  cabins  at  eight 
o'clock,  so  as  to  leave  the  saloon  for  the  gentle- 
men ?  " 

"No,   certainly  not,"   I   answered.     "I    never 


56  MES.   RAYMOND. 

think  of  leaving  till  ten.  I  like  my  game  of  whist, 
and  we  generally  have  some  music." 

That  same  evening  she  came  up  to  me  and 
said,  **  My  husband  says  I  may  stay  up  too,  if 
you  will  allow  me  to  sit  beside  you.  Please  do, 
Mrs.  Paulet ;  it  is  so  dreadfully  dull  in  my  cabin. 
I  cannot  go  to  sleep  at  eight  o'clock,  like  a  little 
child." 

**  Of  course  you  may  sit  beside  me,"  I  answered. 

I  glanced  over,  and  saw  Mr.  Raymond's  keen, 
piercing  eyes  on  me  and  her.  We  were  all  an 
elderly  party ;  no  one  among  us  was  likely  to  rouse 
his  jealousy.  She,  poor  girl,  seemed  delighted 
to  have  bo  much  liberty,  and  chattered  away,  as 
I  had  never  heard  her,  to  Mrs.  Sharpe,  and 
Charlie,  and  the  Barkers.  Every  evening  she 
established  herself  beside  me,  work  in  hand,  and 
thus  it  came  to  pass  that  I  became  Mrs.  Raymond's 
chaperone ! 

It  was  evident  that  Mr.  Raymond  was  rich ;  he 
had  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  never  had  to  think 
of  money.     It  was   whispered   that  he  and   the 


MRS.   RAYMOND.  57 

Mexicans  and  Americans  played  very  high,  and 
that  when  he  lost  he  laughed  and  paid  up. 
Mrs.  Eaymond's  dresses  were  Parisian,  more 
costly  than  tasteful.  She  came  out  in  a  set  of 
Russian  sables  one  cold  evening,  that  made  the 
other  women  respect  her  as  they  had  never 
respected  her  previously,  and  her  diamond  bangles, 
brooches,  and  earrings  caused  even  the  American 
ladies  to  exclaim.  All  her  belongings  were  in 
keeping,  for  one  day  she  called  me  into  her 
cabin  to  show  me  a  picture,  and  I  noticed  the 
luxuries  with  which  she  was  surrounded.  The 
silver-mounted  looking-glass  and  brushes,  gold- 
topped  scent-bottles,  the  cabin  and  its  valuable 
contents,  including  her  jewel-case,  were  all  left  in 
charge  of  Mr.  Eaymond's  Mahomedan  servant,  a 
stern-faced,  elderly  man,  with  a  square-cut  beard, 
who  stood  outside  the  door  with  folded  arms,  as 
motionless  and  rigid  as  a  statue.  I  had  had 
plenty  of  Mahomedan  servants  of  my  own,  and 
I  must  say  that  I  did  not  take  a  fancy  to  Ahmed 
Khan.     He  never  salaamed  to  any  one   but  his 


58  MRS.   RAYMOND. 

own  master,  and  there  seemed  to  me  a  sort  of 
scarcely  repressed  insolence  in  his  stolid  glance. 
He  was  devoted  to  Mr.  Saymond,  more  like  a 
dog  than  a  human  being ;  he  slept  on  the  mat 
outside  his  cabin  by  night,  and  obeyed  his  merest 
glance  by  day. 

"To  see  Naples  and  die"  is  a  very  fine  ex- 
pression. I  have  seen  Naples  harbour  with 
dirty  brownish  waves,  seen  Vesuvius  covered 
Tvith  snow,  the  streets  covered  with  mud  and 
slush,  and  have  very  nearly  died  of  cold  and  sea- 
sickness after  an  awful  passage  from  Messina,  in 
the  very  teeth  of  a  gale ;  but  now,  en  route  out, 
Naples  looked  gay  and  bright — but  not  a  bit  more 
beautiful  in  my  perhaps  prejudiced  eyes  than 
Bombay — and,  as  the  steamer  was  to  wait  twenty 
hours,  we  all  took  boat  and  went  ashore.  Charles 
and  I  had  been  to  Pompeii,  had  seen  the  cathedral, 
BO  we  merely  drove  about  shopping,  and  along 
the  Ciaja ;  and  almost  everywhere  we  went  wo 
encountered  the  Raymonds,  with  Ahmed  Khan  in 
attendance.     She  looked  radiant.     We  saw  them 


MRS.    RAYMOND.  59 

in  ijhotographers'  shops,  in  milliners',  in  jewellers', 
and  she  whispered  to  me  "that  he  had  given  her 
loads  of  pretty  things,  and  that  she  was  sending 
presents  home,  and  had  had  her  photograph 
taken."  I  had  never  seen  her  in  such  spirits, 
for  she  was  generally  rather  quiet,  not  to  say 
depressed.  At  the  Museum  we  met  them  again, 
and,  as  we  were  poking  about  among  the  wonderful 
remains  from  Pompeii,  two  young  men  came  in, 
talking  in  the  loud  voices  of  the  British  tourists 
abroad. 

One  was  a  tall  nice-looking  man,  with  dark 
grey  eyes ;  the  other  was  smaller  and  plainer,  but 
had  a  certain  air  of  distinction  about  him,  and 
any  one  could  see  at  a  glance  that  they  were 
both  officers  in  the  British  Army.  They  went 
round  together,  audibly  discussing  and  admiring 
all  they  saw,  and  then  they  evidently  caught  sight 
of  us — or,  more  properly,  of  Mrs.  Raymond,  who 
was  examining  a  vase  with  Charles.  I  was  a 
good  deal  sm-prised  to  hear  one  say  to  the  other 
in  Hindustani — 


6o  iiliS.   RAYMOND. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  lovely  girl  ?  I  wish 
I  was  going  to  stay  in  Naples." 

**  Maybe  it  is  just  as  well  you  are  not," 
rejoined  the  other,  with  a  laugh ;  "  her  father 
looks  a  stern  old  gentleman." 

Charles  to  be  called  an  old  gentleman,  and  to 
be  taken  for  Mrs.  Eaymond's  father  1  The  very 
idea  gave  me  quite  a  shock.  I  glanced  hastily 
at  Mr.  Eaymond :  had  he  heard  too  ?  Appa- 
rently not ;  if  he  had,  he  had  an  admirable 
command  over  his  expression,  for  he  was  ex- 
amining a  quaint  mosaic  with  a  smile  on  hia 
face.  When  I  turned  round  the  young  men  had 
departed. 

It  was  getting  dusk  and  chilly,  and  we  set 
our  faces  towards  the  harbour,  and  after  being 
nearly  upset  by  rival  boatmen,  found  ourselves 
once  more  safely  in  the  lamp -lit  saloon,  which 
had  quite  a  home  look,  with  its  three  long 
tables  covered  with  flowers,  fruit,  and  Italian 
pastry,  and  duly  punctuated  by  bottles  of  red 
country  wine.     Six  new   passengers  had  arrived. 


MBS.    RAYMOND.  6 1 

and,  to  my  great  consternation,  they  included 
the  two  young  men  whom  I  had  seen  in 
the  Museum.  Mrs.  Sharpe  told  me  that  they 
were  officers  in  the  Prancing  Lancers,  on  their 
way  to  join  their  regiment  at  Mhow.  The  tall 
one  was  Captain  Fuller,  and  the  short  one  was 
the  Honourable  Guy  Warneford.  They  made  a 
valiant  effort  to  secure  seats  at  our  table,  on  the 
strength  of  a  slight  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Sharpe ; 
but  even  this  did  not  avail  them,  for  there  was 
no  room,  and  they  were  forced  to  sit  elsewhere. 
All  the  same,  they  attached  themselves  closely  to 
our  set,  and  soon  had  scraped  acquaintance  with 
Mr.  Barker,  the  Borrodailes,  and  the  Eaymonds 
— especially  Mrs.  Eaymond.  They  were,  however, 
not  prepared  for  her  husband's  persistent  pre- 
sence. Was  she  leaning  over  the  bulwarks,  he 
was  sure  to  be  at  her  side ;  sitting,  reading,  walk- 
ing, it  was  ever  the  same,  and  he  generally  mono- 
polized the  entire  conversation.  The  only  time 
that  Mrs.  Eaymond  was  free  from  his  ever-haunt- 
ing presence  was  when  she  sat  beside  me,  after 


62  AinS.   RAYMOND. 

dinner,  and  they  made  the  very  most  of  this  ! 
We  landed  at  Messina,  and  of  course  they  annexed 
themselves  to  our  party.  They  saw  quite  plainly 
that  their  company  was  distasteful  to  Mr.  Kay- 
mond,  and  redoubled  every  effort — the  combined 
efforts,  of  two  audacious  young  men — to  enjoy  his 
wife's  society,  partly  because  they  admired  her, 
and  partly  because  it  made  him  secretly  and 
politely  furious ;  it  was  a  capital  game  !  and  they 
resolved  to  play  it  all  the  way  to  Bombay.  Mrs. 
Raymond  was  no  flirt,  but  she  was  young,  pretty, 
and  liked  admiration ;  her  exquisite  blue  eyes  were 
shildlike  in  their  innocence — not  like  Mrs.  Swift's 
dark  orbs,  whose  one  glance  was  a  whole  three- 
volume  novel !  Mrs.  Swift  was  decidedly  fast, 
and  her  husband  allowed  her  to  do  as  she  pleased. 
He  was  never  on  duty.  This  lady  was  also  re- 
cently married,  had  a  plain  face,  good  figure, 
pretty  feet — which  she  displayed  liberally,  and  in 
six  different  pairs  of  shoes  a  day ;  she  dressed 
admirably,  was  excessively  amusing,  and  self-pos- 
sessed.    She  was  generally  surrounded  by  a  crowd 


ZinS.    BA7M0ND.  ^Z 

of  admiring  young  men,  as  she  smoked  cigar- 
ettes, bringing  the  smoke  out  of  her  ears  or  down 
her  nostrils  at  pleasure.  She  talked  slang,  and 
behaved  herself  more  like  a  schoolboy  than  a 
lady.  Often  have  I  caught  Mr.  Eaymond's  black 
eyes  fixed  upon  her,  with  anything  but  a  pleasant 
expression ;  and,  indeed,  I  could  not  wonder  that 
he  did  not  approve  of  this  remarkably  frisky 
matron.  Ladies,  as  a  rule,  did  not  admire  Mrs. 
Raymond,  She  was  stupid,  and  had  no  style, 
and  was  not  a  person  of  good  birth  ;  now  Mrs. 
Swift,  with  all  her  fastness,  was  well  born  (and 
much  "was  forgiven  her  on  this  account).  Mrs. 
Raymond  was  inclined  to  boast  in  a  mild  way 
of  her  diamonds,  and  of  her  husband's  wealth, 
of  the  lovely  horses  she  would  drive,  and  the  tribes 
of  servants  she  was  to  have  in  India. 

"  My  dear  good  girl !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sharpe, 
impatiently,  "  we  are  all  on  the  same  footing  out 
there.  We  have  all  lovely  horses,  and  tribes  of 
servants  ;  it's  our  only  compensation  !  If  I  had 
been  you,    I'd    have    made    your    rich    husband 


64  ^RS.   RAYMOND. 

stay  at  home.  Whereabouts  are  you  going  to 
live?" 

"It  is  not  quite  settled  yet,"  she  answered 
rather  grandly.  "  My  husband  has  a  good  deal  of 
property  in  the  Punjaub,  I  believe.  I  am  not 
sure  where  that  is." 

**  But  what  will  be  your  station  ?  '* 

"  I  really  have  never  heard  him  mention 
it.    I  don't  think  we  have  a  station." 

*'  How  strange !  Well,  you  will  know  soon 
enough ;  and  if  it's  a  dull  little  out-of-  the-way 
hole,  you  must  make  him  take  you  down  to  Cal- 
cutta in  the  cold  weather,  and  up  to  Simla  in  the 
hot  season,  and  to  Lucknow  for  the  races.  Don't 
let  him  hide  you  and  make  a  Purdah  Nashin  of 
you,"  she  added  with  a  laugh. 

**  What  is  a  Purdah  Nashin  ? "  inquired  Mrs. 
Raymond,  giggling  and  displaying  her  little  white 
teeth. 

"  You  may  well  ask  I  It's  a  type  you  don't 
come  across  in  England.  A  woman  who  is  kept 
secluded  from  the  world  in  her  husband's  house. 


MES.    BAYMOND.  65 

who  lives  and  dies  there,  and  never  uncovers  her 
face  when  out-of-doors,  and  never  sees  or  speaks 
to  any  man  but  her  husband,  or  her  father,  or 
her  sons." 

"Poor  creatures!  Are  there  many  of  them  in 
India  ?  "  she  asked  with  an  air  of  deep  compassion. 

**  Yes,  thousands;  they  lead  an  uncommonly  dull 
life,  I  fancy,  these  domestic  prisoners.  Even  when 
she  drives  out,  the  grand  lady  has  all  the  carriage 
blinds  pulled  down,  just  as  the  common  woman 
sits  behind  the  drawn  curtains  of  an  humble 
ekka.  When  they  travel  by  rail,  as  they  do  on  a 
pilgrimage,  there  is  such  a  fuss ;  they  are  carried 
into  the  station  in  a  dooly,  and  when  they  get 
into  their  compartment  there  is  quite  a  high 
screen  roimd  them.  It  is  so  funny,  and  most  of 
them  are  hideous  old  hags,  as  ugly  as  sin ;  but  I 
suppose  they  like  the  commotion." 

**  Don't  they  ever  peep  ?  I'm  sure  I  should," 
she  said  with  a  merry,  girlish  laugh. 

*'  If  you  were  young  and  pretty  you  would  not 
get  the   chance.     There   is   generally  some  lynx- 

? 


66  MBS.   RAYMOND. 

eyed  old  grandmother,  who  is  worse  than  tea 
jailors.  As  she  was  kept  down  in  her  youth,  and 
shut  away  from  all  the  delights  of  the  world,  she 
now  avenges  herself  on  others.  She  rules  the 
Zenana  with  a  rod  of  iron.  You  have  everything 
to  learn  about  India,  I  suppose  ?  " 

**  Yes,  I  know  nothing  about  housekeeping  and 
servants  or  anything ;  I  should  be  greatly  obliged 
to  you  if  you  would  give  me  a  few  hints." 

There  was  nothing  Mrs.  Sharpe  liked  better; 
it  made  her  so  important.  **  Get  a  piece  of  paper 
and  a  pencil,  my  dear,  and  I'll  give  you  no  end 
of  information;  there  is  nothing  like  beginning 
the  right  way.  Of  course,"  as  the  girl  sat 
down,  pencil  in  hand,  "much  depends  on  your 
presidency.     I  suppose  it  will  be  Bengal  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  she  answered  with  hesita- 
tion. 

Mr.  Raymond. had  drawn  near  in  a  stealthy  way 
he  had,  and  was  leaning  against  a  boat,  listening. 
They  could  not  see  him,  but  he  stood  facing  me, 
and  not  an  expression  of  his  escaped  mo. 


MRS.    RAYMOND.  67 

"  Well,  you  must  first  secure  a  good  house,  with 
large  and  lofty  rooms,  and  a  pucka  roof;  not  a 
thatched  house — be  sure  of  that.  Then  you  will 
want  a  whole  retinue  of  good  servants.  Your  hus- 
band will  please  himself,  but  I  prefer  Hindoos  ; 
Mahomedans  are  such  fanatics  and  thieves,  and 
have  such  an  undisguised  contempt  for  our  sex. 
You  will  require  a  good  khansamah,  and  cook 
under  him,  a  bearer,  two  khitmagars,  an  ayah — 
an  old  woman  for  choice.  Your  number  of  syces 
depends  on  your  horses." 

"Mr.  Eaymond  has  promised  me  two  lovely 
Arabs  for  my  carriage.  I  have  never  ridden, 
and  he  says  he  does  not  wish  me  to  learn." 

**  No  ?  Well,  as  he  is  a  rich  man,  you  will 
have  to  allow  your  servants  to  fleece  you  to  a 
certain  extent.  You  won't  get  grain,  and  meat, 
and  poultry,  as  cheap  as  others ;  but  be  sure  and 
settle  your  accounts  with  the  cook  weekly — never 
let  them  run  on.     Be  very  particular  about  this  !  " 

"  Yes,  I'll  remember." 

**  Then  about  society.     You  have  to  call  first  on 


68  MBS.    BAYMOND. 

all  the  old  residents — married  people,  I  mean; 
but  the  bachelors,  of  course,  come  and  call  on 
you." 

Here  Mr.  Raymond's  face  was  a  study. 

"  The  visiting  hours  are  between  twelve  and 
two,  the  hottest  time  of  the  day — and  awful  in 
the  plains — but  every  one  goes  out  in  the  even- 
ing, riding  or  driving,  and  the  young  men  are 
playing  cricket  or  polo,  so  it's  the  only  time  you 
find  people  in." 

**  And  who  returns  the  young  men's  visits  ?  " 

**  Your  husband — or  you  ask  them  to  dinner ; 
I  dare  say  they  like"  that  better,  especially  if 
the  hostess  is  a  pretty  woman,  and  has  a  good 
cook.  I  hope  my  little  hints  will  come  in 
useful.  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  have  a  very 
gay  time." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  beaming  as  she  spoke. 

*' Yes,  it's  a  pity  you  do  not  ride  ;  but  of  course 
you  dance,  and  there  will  be  lots  of  balls  and 
partners  for  you,  and  tifiSns,  and  dinners,  and 
tennis ;  and  you  will  find  that  your  partners  will 


MBS.   RAYMOND.  69 

often  drop  in  and  look  you  up  in  the  afternoons. 
It  civilizes  young  men  to  have  afternoon  tea,  and 
I  suppose  your  husband  won't  mind  ?  " 

From  the  glimpse  I  obtained  of  Mr.  Eaymond's 
countenance,  it  struck  me  that  there  would  not 
be  a  warm  welcome  for  his  wife's  partners,  much 
less  any  invigorating  refreshments. 


(    70    ) 


CHAPTER  III. 

We  were  nearing  Port  Said,  and  there  was  a  talk 
of  getting  up  a  fancy  ball  in  the  Canal,  the 
night  the  steamer  was  **  tied  up ;  "  an  energetic 
lady — there  is  always  one  among  the  passengers 
— managed  it,  and  cleverly  evolved  costumes  out 
of  almost  nothing.  There  wer  mdians,  Chinese, 
Japanese,  Britannia's  drape  with  flags ;  lazy 
people  who  were  merely  poi  ;,  and  clowns,  play- 
ing cards,  demons,  and  witches.  The  passengers 
of  a  P.  and  0.  (anchored  close  by)  came  on 
board,  and  there — with  the  silent  desert  stretch- 
ing away  at  either  side — was  enacted  a  scene  of 
revelry,  and  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell. 
Our  ship  gave  the  supper,  the  men  the  cham- 
pagne.    Mrs.  Eaymond  was  not  allowed  to  dress 


MRS.   RAYMOND.  J  I 

in  costume,  or  to  dance;  though  it  had  been 
suggested  that  she  should  go  as  "Beauty,"  and 
her  husband  as  the  "  Beast,"  or  as  the  "  Prin- 
cess Baldrabadoura,"  and  her  husband  as  the 
**  Magician."  I  fancy  she  had  had  a  struggle  to 
be  present  at  all,  for  she  looked  rather  pale,  and 
her  eyes  were  decidedly  red,  as  she  came  and 
sat  near  me.  I  was  only  a  spectator,  a  withered 
old  wallflower. 

"Can  you  not  dance?"  I  asked,  as  she  steadily 
refused  partner  after  partner. 

*'  Oh  yes,  I  can,  and  I  am  so  fond  of  it,  too ; 
but  Mr.  Eaymond  does  not  think  married  ladies 
ought  to  dance." 

**I  go  further,"  he  said — coming  nearer  as  he 
spoke — "I  don't  think  any  ladies  ought  to  dance  ; 
they  lower  themselves  by  doing  so.  They  should 
leave  all  this  display  to  nautch-girls  ;  it  is  only  fit 
for  such  !  Look  at  that  lady,"  pointing  to  Mrs. 
Swift,  in  a  very  short  dress,  "  and  look  at  that 
one,"  indicating  another  in  an  exceedingly  low  body, 
"  and  you  call  them  civiUzed  and  refined  ?     I  call 


72  MBS.   RAYMOND. 

them  no  better  than  savages  !  They  are  on  a  par 
■with  a  negro  woman,  who  dances  round  a  fetish." 

**  You  would  shut  them  up,  if  you  had  anything 
to  say  to  them  ?  "  I  remarked  sarcastically. 

"  I  would — ^in  their  graves,"  was  the  startling 
reply. 

"I  agree  with  you,  that  there  is  dancing  and 
dancing,  and  I  cannot  admire  these  frantic  polkas, 
or  the  kitchen  lancers." 

"  Ah,  if  you  European  ladies  were  not  so  pre- 
judiced, you  would  allow  that  our  Zenana  system 
was  a  sound  one.'* 

"  No,  never ;  I  should  never  go  to  that  ex- 
treme," I  maintained  indignantly. 

*'  But  listen  to  me.  Do  our  women  romp  about 
with  other  men — half  clothed,  too  ! — and  shame 
their  husbands  who  stand  looking  on  ?  You  saw 
those  ladies  racing  round  the  deck  yesterday  for 
a  gold  bangle ;  what  sort  of  an  exhibition  did  you 
call  it  ?  " 

I  called  it  an  exhibition  of  stockings,  but  I  held 
my  tongue.     There  was  something  in  what  he  said. 


MBS.   RAYMOND.  73 

Some  ladies,  I  knew,  might  be  eliminated  from 
society  with  much  advantage  to  womankind  in 
general. 

"FoM  think  our  women  have  no  liberty,"  he 
pursued,  gesticulating  with  his  thin  brown  hands. 

"I  am  sure  they  have  not,"  I  answered  em- 
phatically. 

**  Another  mistake  !  They  have  far  more  than  in 
English  families.  Although  the  world  does  not  see 
them,  our  mothers  and  wives  pull  all  the  strings 
from  behind  the  purdah.  No  family  matter  is 
settled  without  them ;  be  it  weddings,  purchase  of 
land  or  jewels,  all  those  affairs  are  generally 
arranged  by  them ;  they  are  far  more  deferred  to 
in  money  matters  than  European  women,  who 
are  often  beaten,  and  almost  always  neglected  or 
ignored  where  business  is  in  question.  An  old 
lady  like  you,  were  she  of  my  people,  would  have 
great  authority.  And  they  have  ample  variety;  they 
drive  about  from  one  Zenana  to  another,  and  hear 
all  the  news,  and  drink  coffee  with  their  friends. 
Nor  are  they  debarred  from  male  society ;  they  see 


74  ^^S.   RAYMOND. 

their  husbands  and  brothers  and  uncles.  Once 
a  woman  is  married,  why  should  she  desire  to 
Bee  another  man  than  her  husband?  There 
is  where  the  great  mistake  is  made  in  your 
country;  were  your  ladies  kept  in  strict  seclusion, 
there  would  be  no  disgrace,  none  of  those  shock- 
ing scandals  that  become  more  common  every 
day." 

"Have  you  never  any?"  I  demanded  in  my 
tartest  tone. 

**  Earely,  rarely,  very  rarely." 

"  And  when  one  is  discovered,  what  happens  ?  " 

**  Do  not  ask  me  too  much,"  was  his  mysterious 
reply.  "I  maintain  here  to  you,  an  enlightened 
English  lady,  who  knows  India,  and  knows  the 
world,  that  our  Zenana  life,  our  women's  lives,  is 
infinitely  superior  to  yours.  Where  women  smoke 
and  drink,  and  shoot  and  hunt,  and  have  their 
liberty,  and  make  a  very  bad  use  of  it — ours  have 
sufficient  liberty,  but  no  licence." 

"And  yet  many  cannot  read  or  write,  and  spend 
their  days  playing  childish  games,  dressing  dolls, 


MRS.   RAYMOND.  75 

quarrelling,  or  eating  sweets ;  their  minds  are  a 
blank." 

"  Better  so  than  be  full  of  wickedness." 

"  And  yet  you  read  French  novels  yourself ;  you 
have  had  a  good  education;  you  have  seen  the 
world.  A  woman  is  to  be  shut  up  between  four 
walls,  spending  her  days  like  some  wound-up 
mechanical  toy.  Is  she  not  as  much  a  human 
being  as  you  are  ?  " 

"  No ;  she  is  an  inferior,"  was  his  astounding 
statement. 

*•  Thank  you,"  I  replied,  with  an  arctic  bow. 

"  But  she  is  well  watched  and  cared  for,"  he 
calmly  proceeded,  "  and  is  very  happy  in  her 
home,  and  has  enormous  influence." 

"  And  yet  she  may  not  sit  in  her  husband's 
presence ;  and  when  he  enters  a  room,  must  stand 
with  her  face  to  the  wall !  " 

"  That  is  seldom  done  now ;  these  customs  are 
going  out  of  fashion." 

"  Yes,  like  the  bow-string  and  the  sack  !  "  I 
retorted,  with  a  spice  of  temper. 


'j6  MRS.   RAYMOND. 

At  this  moment  some  one  came  and  offered  to 
take  me  down  to  supper,  and  I  was  not  sorry  to 
leave  Mr.  Raymond ;  there  was  an  odd  glitter  in 
his  eyes,  and  a  repressed  tone  in  his  speech,  that 
I  did  not  altogether  relish.  He  had  not  been 
pleased  with  my  thrust  about  the  sack  and  bow- 
string, and  for  my  part  I  had  not  fancied  .being  so 
plainly  informed  that  I  was  "  an  old  woman." 
We  were  never  such  good  friends  after  that  night, 
and  I  think  he  had  an  insane  idea  that  I — I, 
strait-laced  Louisa  Paulet — encouraged  those  two 
light-hearted  officers  in  their  fluttering  round  his 
wife! 

Captain  Fuller  took  me  into  his  confidence  one 
evening,  and  said — 

"What  can  have  persuaded  that  lovely  girl  to 
marry  that  horrible  man  ?  Did  he  pass  himself  off 
as  an  Italian,  or  a  Greek,  or  what  ?  Handsome, 
I  suppose  he  is,  but  what  an  expression !  And  it 
strikes  me,  that  the  nearer  he  approaches  his 
native  shores,  the  more  native  he  becomes — even  in 
his  dress.    He  has  dropped  his  smart  tweed  suit  for 


MRS.    RAYMOND.  77 

white  duck,  his  deerstalker  for  a  fez,  and  the  fine 
new  gloss  of  his  European  manners  has  worn 
down.  He  would  like  to  poison  me,  and  I  should 
be  delighted  to  kick  him — to  kick  him  for  half 
an  hour." 

**  Well,  I  sincerely  hope  you  will  keep  the  peace  ; 
we  have  only  seven  days  more.  We  sight  Perim 
to-night,"  I  added  consolingly. 

**  Seven  days  more  !  Yes,  I  wonder  what  sort 
of  a  life  that  wretched  girl  will  lead.  She  is 
very  simple,  and  as  ignorant  in  some  ways  as  a 
child." 

"  She  will  have  carriages  and  horses,  and  ser- 
vants, and  lovely  diamonds." 

**  And  do  you  think  they  will  make  her  happy  ?  " 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know;  it  satisfies  some 
women." 

"Yes,  but  not  when  they  are  married  to  a 
native  of  India,  with  whom  they  can  have  but 
little  in  common,  and  who  has  an  uncivilized 
temper.  Where  is  she  to  live?"  he  inquired, 
with  undissembled  interest. 


78  MBS.   RAYMOND. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  I  retui-ned,  with  a  shake  of  my 
head.     "  She  is  rather  vague  about  it  herself." 

"  But  surely  you  can  find  out  ?  You  have  been 
very  kind  to  her,  and  I  am  certain  that  to  feel  she 
has  one  friend  of  her  own  sex  in  the  country, 
would  make  her  happier.  Give  her  your  address  ; 
you  might  drop  her  a  line,  and  ask  how  she  is 
getting  on.  It  would  be  an  act  of  charity;  for,  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  my  doubts  of  that  fellow. 
I  would  not  trust  him  as  far  as  I  could  throw  him." 

I  seemed  (I  suppose  because  I  am  stout  and 
motherly-looking)  to  be  the  general  repository  of 
people's  confidences,  for  one  afternoon,  before 
dinner,  Mrs.  Eaymond  came  and  took  Charles's 
chair — her  husband  was  deep  in  a  game  of  chess. 
He  glanced  up  for  a  second,  but  he  evidently  con- 
sidered that  she  was  safe  with  me,  and  resumed 
his  play.  I  looked  at  her  closely;  she  had  been 
crying.  This  was  the  second  time  I  had  seen  her 
with  red  eyes.  She  moved  her  chair,  so  that  she 
Bat  with  her  back  to  the  chess-players,  and 
Baid — 


MBS.    RAYMOND.  79 

*'  I  have  not  had  a  talk  with  you  for  a  long  time, 
Mrs.  Paulet." 

"No,  my  dear;  but  we  can  have  a  good  chat 
now.  You  are  not  looking  yourself ;  have  you  a 
headache  ?  " 

"  I — I  feel  the  heat ;  oh,  I  do  hope  we  are  not 
going  to  a  very  hot  place." 

"I  hope  not,"  I  answered  cheerfully. 

*'  And  in  six  more  days  I  shall  know !  Mrs. 
Paulet,  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  see  you  again. 
Oh,  I  liope.  I  shall !  " 

"  Perhaps  some  day  you  will  come  and  pay  me 
a  little  visit  at  Tamashabad  ?  " 

"  How  I  should  love  to  stay  with  you,  but " 

"But  what?" 

"My  husband  would  not  let  me  go,  I  am 
sure.  Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Paulet,  I  feel  so  safe 
when  I  am  near  you !  "  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

"  What  does  the  girl  mean  ? "  I  asked  im- 
patiently. 

"  I  mean  " — lowering  her  voice,  two  tears  now 


8o  MES.    RAYMOND. 

rolling  slowly  down  her  cheeks  —  **  that  my 
marriage  has  been  a  terrible  mistake.  I  am 
afraid  of  Mr.  Raymond,  I  am — indeed.  Oh,  why 
did  I  ever  leave  my  home  ?  " 

To  hear  a  bride  of  a  few  weeks  talk  in  this 
way  gave  me  a  most  unpleasant  sensation. 

**  Nonsense,  my  dear  girl !  you  are  only  a  little 
bilious ;  it  is  the  sea  air.  If  you  had  not  liked 
the  man,  I'm  sure  you  would  not  have  married 
him." 

**  It  was  all  my  mother's  doing,"  she  rejoined 
in  a  choked  voice.  **  You  see — I  need  not  tell 
you — that  I  am  not  a  lady  by  birth  like  you, 
and  it  was  a  grand  match  for  the  likes  of  me." 

**  Tell  me  where  you  met  him,  and  how  it  all 
came  about  ?  You  may  be  sure  I  shall  keep  what- 
ever you  relate  to  myself." 

"  I  met  him  up  in  the  lake  country,  where  my 
mother  keeps  a  little  inn — The  Trout  and  Fly. 
She  is  a  widow  and  has  three  daughters;  I  am 
the  youngest — and  best  looking." 

"Yes,  go  on." 


MBS.   BATMOND.  8 1 

**  I  was  always  a  bit  spoiled,  I  suppose  on 
account  of  my  looks,  and  I  was  sent  to  quite  a 
genteel  boarding-school  in  Carlisle,  where  I  learnt 
French  and  the  piano,  and  when  I  came  home 
I  was  never  asked  to  help  in  the  housework  like 
Lizzie  and  Susan,  or  to  wash  dishes  or  cook ; 
mother  could  not  bear  me  to  soil  a  finger,  and 
80  I  used  to  sew  and  do  a  little  millinery  and 
that.  She  never  allowed  me,  even  in  the  busy 
time,  to  set  foot  in  the  bar  or  coffee-room,  or  to 
come  across  visitors  at  all;  but  one  day  I  met 
Mr.  Eaymond  on  the  stairs."  She  paused,  sighed, 
and  then  added  in  a  most  melancholy  tone,  "  And 
that  began  it  aU  I  " 

"I  suppose  so,"  I  acquiesced  sympathetically. 

"Yes,  he  stayed  and  stayed,  and  he  hung 
about,  till  he  met  me  and  spoke  to  me.  He  was 
very  rich  and  handsome,  and  had  such  beautiful 
clothes  and  rings — so  different  from  any  of  the 
village  people.  He  took  a  fancy  to  me,  he  told 
mother,  and  asked  if  he  might  walk  out  with 
me ;  and  of  an  evening  we  used  to  walk  together, 

a 


82  MBS.   BAYMOND. 

and  he  told  me  lovely  stories,  and  was  very 
attentive,  and  gave  me  a  gold  watch  and  chain; 
and  people  talked  in  a  horrid  way,  but  mother 
shut  them  up  fine !  He  was  a  real  grand  gentle- 
man, and  he  was  going  to  marry  me ;  he  and  she 
had  settled  it,  she  said.  If  I  had  had  to  choose, 
and  he  had  had  the  same  as  young  Joe  the  boat- 
man, my  own  cousin,  I'd  have  married  young  Joe. 
However,  we  were  married  very  quietly,  and  he 
carried  me  off  to  London,  and  bought  me  splendid 
dresses,  and  took  me  to  the  theatres  and  parks, 
and  we  had  a  fine  hired  carriage  of  our  own. 
Then  we  went  to  Paris,  and  I  liked  that;  and 
oh  !  he  bought  me  such  lovely  diamonds.  I  never 
wished  for  a  thing  that  I  did  not  get  it.  Just 
like  in  a  fairy  tale.  But  though  he  was  very 
kind  to  me,  I  never  could  bring  him  to  speak 
to  me  of  his  relations,  his  religion,  or  his  home, 
and  I  know  no  more  about  them  now  than  I  did 
then,"  she  said  with  a  little  sob,  "  and  here 
we  are  within  four  days  of  Bombay.  I  have  a 
presentiment  that  something  is  going  to  happen. 


MBS.   RAYMOND,  83 

and  I  cannot  sleep  for  thinking  of  it,  my  heart 
does  palpitate  so ! "  As  she  spoke,  her  whole 
frame  quivered. 

"Indigestion,  my  dear!  Pray,  what  could 
happen  to  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

**  I  don't  know ;  but  sometimes  Mr.  Eaymond 
is  very  angry  with  me,  and  he  frightens  me.  He 
cannot  endure  me  to  speak  to  any  one,  scarcely 
even  to  you;  and  he  told  me  that  if  I  ever  spoke 
to  Captain  Fuller  again  he  would  lock  me  up 
in  my  cabin.  He  is  quite  capable  of  it.  Ah ! 
what  would  I  not  give  to  be  at  home?  Shall  I 
ever  see  our  dear  hills  and  lakes  again  ?  " 

**  Of  course  you  will,"  I  hastily  rejoined ;  **  and 
meanwhile  you  will  see  a  very  interesting  new 
country,  where  I  hope  yoo  will  be  very  happy." 

"  God  grant  it,  Mrs.  Paulet !  "  she  returned 
gravely.  **  But  sometimes  I  feel  that  I  shall  never 
be  happy  again,"  and  she  gave  a  little  dry  sob. 

"  You  should  have  reflected  well  before  you 
married.  You  are  very  young ;  you  could  hardly 
know  your  own  mind.'* 


84  USS.   RAYMOND. 

"Yes;  but  you  see  mother  is  a  strong-minded 
woman,  and  manages  us  all.  I  never  chose  a 
dress  for  myself,  let  alone  a  sweetheart.  And  he 
was  very  liberal  to  mother ;  he  bought  her  a  lease 
of  the  house,  and  poor  mother  was  just  dazzled. 
Oh,  if  I  was  only  back  again,  sitting  over  the 
fire  in  the  little  parlour,  with  Susan  and  Lizzie, 
I'd  never  ask  to  see  a  diamond,  or  a  horse,  or 
a  silk  dress,  as  long  as  I  lived !  Yes,  it's  getting 
much  warmer." 

I  looked  round  to  see  the  meaning  of  this 
irrelevant  remark,  and  discovered  Mr.  Eaymond 
close  to  us,  regarding  our  confidences  with  a  pair 
of  most  suspicious  eyes. 

The  next  morning  he  blandly  informed  us  at 
breakfast  that  "  Mrs.  Eaymond  was  not  well,  and 
was  going  to  remain  in  her  cabin — a  touch  of 
fever,  a  mere  nothing." 

I  volunteered  to  go  and  see  her,  to  take  her 
quinine,  eau  de  Cologne,  oranges.  My  offer  was 
stiffly  declined.  **  His  wife  had  everything  she 
required  ;   all  she  needed  was   repose."     We  did 


MBS.  BAYMOND,  85 

not  see  her  that  day,  nor  the  following  one, 
nor  could  we  gain  access  to  her  cabin  by  fair 
means — or  even  by  foul — for  when  I  surreptitiously 
tried  the  door  (having  left  Mr.  Kaymond  on  deck), 
I  found  Ahmed  Khan  on  duty  as  sentry,  and  he 
assured  me  with  a  scowl  that  **  Mem  Sahib  sota 
hye  "  (Mem  Sahib  asleep). 

Mrs.  Sharpe  came  to  me  next  morning,  and 
said  excitedly,  "Louisa,  you  always  say  I  am  find- 
ing mares'  nests,  but  I  am  certain  there  is  some- 
thing wrong  about  those  Eaymonds ;  we  have  not 
seen  her  for  three  days — not  since  Monday  night." 

"No,  but  that  proves  nothing.  She  has  not 
been  looking  well  latterly — she  has  fever." 

"  The  doctor  has  not  been  called  in.  He  waits 
on  her  himself ;  and  when  he  is  card-playing,  and 
on  deck,  the  door  is  locked." 

"  Pray,  how  do  you  know  ?  "  I  demanded  judi- 
cially. 

"  I  watched  and  tried  it,  and  then  I  knocked, 
and  she  said,  *  Come  in,  please ; '  but  I  saw 
AJimed,  and  he  sent  me  away.     '  Sahib's  hookum ; 


86  MBS.   RAYMOND. 

missus  sick,  could  see  no  Mem  Sahib.'  Then  I 
can  tell  you  something  more.  Her  cabin  is  next 
Miss  Lacy's,  and  Miss  Lacy  says  she  hears  dread- 
ful sobbing  and  crying.  What  is  to  be  done? 
Shall  we  speak  to  the  captain  ?  "  concluded  Mrs. 
Sharpe. 

"  No ;  a  man's  cabin  is  his  castle,  and  his  wife 
is  his  private  property.  We  cannot  break  in,  and 
Bee  her  against  his  will." 

"  The  thing  is  to  communicate  with  her." 

**  Yes,  but  how  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  I  have  thought  it  all  out.  This  evening,  when 
be  is  playing  cards,  I  shall  slip  away,  and  go  into 
Miss  Lacy's  cabin  and  knock  on  the  partition, 
at  the  back  of  Mrs.  Eaymond's  berth.  Don't  you 
go ;  he  may  suspect  you,  but  he  won't  miss  me" 

"  Well  ?  "  I  said  breathlessly,  as  I  entered  her 
cabin  that  night,  **  what  success  ?  " 

"  He  was  much  too  clever  for  me,"  she  replied. 
*'  I  had  barely  knocked  and  said,  *  Mrs.  Raymond.' 
And  she  said,  *  Oh,  who  is  it  ? ' — '  Mrs.  Sharpe, 
from    Mrs.   Paulet.      Are   you   better  ?  ' — *  I   am 


MBS.   RAYMOND.  87 

quite  well.  I  never  was  ill.  Hush  ! '  And  I  heard 
hei  cabin  door  opened,  and  he  came  in;  lie 
did  not  talk  at  first,  but  I  knew  he  was  there. 
After  a  time  he  said,  '  I  have  brought  your  sleep- 
ing draught.'  I  had  my  ear  to  the  berth.  '  Oh, 
please,  please  no,'  she  cried;  'I  don't  want  it, 
and  the  other  made  me  so  heavy  for  two  days. 
Oh,  anything  but  the  sleeping  draught ! '  and  she 
began  to  sob.  '  Take  it ! '  you  should  have  heard 
bis  voice ;  it  actually  frightened  me  through  the 
boards.  And  then  I  crept  stealthily  away,  feeling 
quite  queer  and  shaky,  not  to  say  guilty." 

**  We  get  in  to-morrow  at  nine  o'clock,"  I  said. 
**  Of  course  we  shall  see  her  then.  We  will  watch 
and  waylay  them.  Poor  girl !  what  does  he  mean 
by  shutting  her  up  and  drugging  her  ?  " 

The  steamer  arrived  in  dock  at  six — three  hours 
before  her  time,  and  before  we  were  up.  What  a 
bustle  there  was  !  After  our  seven-o'clock  Chotah 
hazree,  packing  our  small  parcels  and  wraps, 
receiving  our  letters  and  friends — we  are  a  selfish 
world — it  was  breakfast -time  ere  I  thought  of  the 


88  MBS.   RAYMOND. 

poor  prisoner.  I  went  to  the  cabin  door  and 
knocked;  no  answer.  I  turned  the  handle;  the 
door  opened,  the  cabin  was  empty  ! 

"How  is  this?"  I  said  to  the  stewardess 
Theresa,  a  fat,  oily-tongued  Italian. 

"  Oh,  the  signora  was  very,  very  sick,  and  the 
good  signor  was  so  attentive,  ho  waited  on  her 
himself  (he  had  given  Theresa  a  handsome  tip — 
that  I  could  see).  He  was  so  anxious  about  her, 
that  as  soon  as  we  were  in  dock,  he  carried  her  on 
deck  in  his  arms,  well  wrapped  up.  There  was  a 
doolie  waiting  with  eight  bearers.  He  placed  her 
in  it  with  his  own  hands,  and  she  was  taken 
away." 

On  further  inquiry,  a  doolie  and  eight  bearers, 
accompanied  by  a  respectable  elderly  servant,  had 
been  seen  going  towards  the  city,  and  there  all 
trace  of  the  Eaymonds  was  lost. 

•  •  •  «  • 

Raymond  was,  of  course,  a  fictitious  name.  The 
unhappy  girl,  and  the  mysterious  stranger,  had 
totally    disappeared;   none    of    their    fellow-pas- 


MRS.    RAYMOND.  89 

sengers  ever  heard  of  tbem  again.  They  were 
both  engulfed  in  that  wide  and  extremely  vague 
address  known  as  "Up  country."  To  this  day, 
Mrs.  Sharpe  and  I,  when  we  meet,  shake  our 
heads  together  over  a  certain  little  mutual  in- 
trigue, and  jointly  wonaer  wnat  lias  become  of 
Mrs.  Eaymond. 


THE  KHITMATGAR, 

"  Whence  and  what  art  thou,  execrable  shape  ?  " — MiLTOS. 

Perhaps  you  have  seen  them  more  than  once  on 
railway  platforms  in  the  North- West  Provinces. 
A  shabby,  squalid,  weary-looking  group,  sitting 
on  their  battered  baggage,  or  scrambling  in  and 
out  of  intermediate  compartments  ;  I  mean 
Jackson,  the  photographer,  and  his  belongings. 
Jackson  is  not  his  real  name,  but  it  answers  the 
purpose.  There  are  people  who  will  tell  you  that 
Jackson  is  a  man  of  good  family,  that  he  once 
held  a  commission  in  a  crack  cavalry  regiment, 
and  that  his  brother  is  Lord-Lieutenant  of  his 
county,  and  his  nieces  are  seen  at  Court  balls. 
Then  how  comes  their  kinsman  to  have  fallen  to 
Buch  low  estate — if  kinsman  he  be — this  seedy- 
looking,    unshorn    reprobate,    with    a    coUarlesa 


TEE  KEITMATQAB.  9 1 

flannel  shirt,  greasy  deerstalker,  and  broken  tennis 
shoes  ?  If  you  look  into  his  face,  who  runs  may 
read  the  answer — Jackson  drinks ;  or  his  swollen 
features,  inflamed  nose,  and  watery  and  uncertain 
eye  greatly  belie  him. 

Jackson  was  a  mauvais  sujet  from  his  youth 
upwards,  if  the  truth  must  be  confessed.  At 
school  he  was  always  in  trouble  and  in  debt. 
At  Oxford  his  scrapes  were  so  prominent  that 
he  had  more  than  one  narrow  escape  of  being 
sent  down.  Who  would  believe,  to  look  at  him 
now,  that  he  had  once  been  a  very  pretty  boy, 
the  youngest  and  best-looking  of  a  handsome 
family,  and  naturally  his  mother's  darling  ?  Poor 
woman !  whilst  she  lived  she  shielded  him  from 
duns  and  dons,  and  from  his  father's  wrath ;  she 
pawned  her  diamonds  and  handed  over  her  pin- 
money  to  pay  his  bills ;  she  gave  him  advice — and 
he  gave  her  kisses.  By  the  time  he  had  joined 
his  regiment,  this  reckless  youth  had  lost  his 
best  friend,  but  his  bad  luck — as  he  termed  it — 
still   clung  to  him   and   overwhelmed   him.     Hia 


92  TEE  KHITMATQAB, 

father  had  a  serious  interview  with  his  colonel, 
paid  up  like  a  liberal  parent,  and  agreed  to  his 
son's  exchange  into  a  corps  in  India.  **  India 
may  steady  him,"  thought  this  sanguine  old 
gentleman ;  but,  alas !  it  had  anything  but  the 
desired  effect.  In  India  the  prodigal  became 
more  imprudent  than  ever.  Cards,  racing,  simpkin, 
soon  swallowed  up  his  moderate  allowance,  and 
he  fell  headlong  into  the  hands  of  the  soucars — 
a  truly  fatal  fall!  Twenty  per  cent,  per  month 
makes  horrible  ravages  in  the  income  of  a 
subaltern,  and  soon  he  was  hopelessly  entangled 
in  debt,  and  had  acquired  the  disagreeable  repu- 
tation of  being  "a  man  who  never  paid  for 
anything,  and  always  let  others  in,  when  it  was 
a  question  of  rupees."  Then  his  name  was 
whispered  in  connection  with  some  very  shady 
racing  transaction,  and  finally  he  was  obliged  to 
leave  the  service,  bankrupt  alike  in  honour  and 
credit.  His  father  was  dead,  his  brothers  unani- 
mously disowned  him,  and  for  twenty  years  he 
fell  from  one  grade  to  another,  as  he  roamed  over 


TEE  KBITMATOAR.  93 

India  from  Peshawar  to  Madras,  and  Eangoon  to 
Bombay.  He  had  been  in  tm-n  planter,  then 
planter's  clerk,  house  agent,  tonga  agent ;  he  had 
tried  touting  for  a  tailoring  firm  and  manu- 
facturing hill  jams ;  and  here  he  was  at  fifty 
years  of  age,  with  a  half-caste  wife,  a  couple  of 
dusky  children,  and  scarcely  an  anna  in  his 
pocket.  Undoubtedly  he  had  put  the  coping-stone 
on  his  misfortunes  when  he  took  for  his  bride 
the  pretty,  slatternly  daughter  of  a  piano-tuner, 
a  girl  without  education,  without  energy,  and 
without  a  penny. 

Ten  years  ago  Fernanda  Braganza  had  been 
a  charming  creature  (with  the  fleeting  beauty 
of  her  kind),  a  sylph  in  form,  with  superb  dark 
eyes,  fairy-like  feet,  and  a  pronounced  taste  for 
pink  ribbons,  patchouli,  and  pearl-powder.  This 
vision  of  beauty,  who  had  gushed  to  Jackson  with 
her  soul  in  her  exquisite  eyes,  and  who  was  not 
insensible  to  the  honour  of  marrying  a  gentleman, 
was  she  the  selfsame  individual  as  this  great 
fat  woman,  in  carpet  slippers,  and  a  bulging'  tweed 


94  THE  KUITMATOAR. 

ulster,  -^ho  stood  with  a  sallow,  hungry-looking 
child  in  either  hand  ?     Alas  !  she  was. 

The  Jacksons  had  come  to  try  their  fortunes 
at  Panipore — a  small  up-country  station,  where 
there  were  two  European  regiments  and  half  a 
hattery  of  Artillery — for  is  not  Tommy  Atldns 
ever  a  generous  patron  to  an  inexpensive  photo- 
grapher? The  finances  of  the  family  were  at 
a  very  low  ebb  that  February  afternoon,  as  they 
stood  on  the  platform  collecting  their  belongings, 
a  camera  and  chemicals,  a  roll  of  frowsy  bedding, 
a  few  cooking  things,  a  couple  of  boxes,  also  a 
couple  of  grimy  servants — in  India  the  poorest 
have  a  following,  and  third-class  tickets  are  cheap. 
Jackson  had  a  "three-finger"  peg  at  the  bar, 
although  there  was  but  little  in  his  pocket,  besides 
a  few  cards  and  paper  posters,  and  thus  in- 
vigorated proceeded  to  take  steps  respecting  the 
removal  of  his  family. 

Poverty  forbade  their  transit  in  a  couple  of 
ticca  gharries,  and  pride  shrank  from  an  ekka; 
therefore  Jackson  left  his  wife  in  the  waiting-room 


TEE  EEITMATOAR.  95 

whilst  he  tramped  away  in  the  blinding  snn  and 
powdery  white  dust  to  see  if  there  was  accom- 
modation at  the  Dak  Bungalow.  It  proved  to  be 
crammed,  and  he  had  not  yet  come  down  to  the 
Serai,  or  native  halting-place.  He  was  (when 
sober)  a  man  of  some  resource.  He  made  his 
way  up  to  the  barracks  and  asked  questions,  and 
heard  that  the  station  was  in  the  same  condition 
as  the  Dak  Bungalow,  quite  full.  Even  Fever 
Hall  and  Cholera  Villa  were  occupied,  and  the  only 
shelter  he  could  put  his  head  into  was  the  big 
two-storied  bungalow  in  the  Paiwene  road.  It 
had  been  empty  for  years ;  it  was  to  be  had  at 
a  nominal  rent — say  two  rupees  a  week — and 
there  was  no  fear  of  any  one  disturbing  him 
there!  It  was  large  and  close  to  the  barracks, 
but  greatly  out  of  repair.  With  this  useful  in- 
telligence, Mr.  Jackson  rejoined  his  impatient 
circle,  and,  with  their  goods  in  a  hand-cart,  they 
started  off  for  this  house  of  refuge  without 
delay. 

Past  the  native  bazaar,  past  the  officers'  mess. 


96  THE  KEITMATGAR. 

past  the  church,  then  along  a  straight  wide  road, 

where  the  crisp  dead    leaves    crackled  underfoot, 

a  road   lined  with    dusty  half-bare   trees,  whose 

branches  stood  out  in  strong  relief  against  a  hard 

blue   sky,  whilst  a  vast  tract   of   grain   country, 

covered  with  green    barley    and  ripe   sugar-cane, 

stretched  away  on  the  right.     On   the   left  were 

a  pair  of  great    gaunt  gate   piers,  leading  by  a 

grass-grown  approach,  to  the  two-storied  bungalow 

— an  imposing-looking   house,  that  was    situated 

well  back  from  the   highway  amid   a   wilderness 

of  trees,  and  rank  and  rotting  vegetation.    Distance 

in  this  case  certainly  had   lent   enchantment    to 

the  view!     When  the  little   party  arrived  under 

the  wide,  dilapidated  portico,  they  found  all  the 

doors    closed,   the    lower   windows    stuffed    with 

boards,  matting,  and    even    paper   in   default  of 

glass;  weeds  and  creepers  abounded,  and  there 

was  a  dangerous  fissure  in  the  front  wall.     After 

knocking  and  calling  for  about  ten  minutes,  an 

ancient  chowkidar  appeared,  looking  half  asleep. 

At  first  he  thought  it  was  merely  a  party  from 


THE  KEITMATQAB.  97 

the  station,  wishing,  as  was  their  eccentric  custom, 
"to  go  over"  the  haunted  house,  the  Bhootia 
Bungalow;  but  he  soon  learnt  his  mistake  from 
the  voluble,  shrill-tongued  mem-sahib. 

This  family  of  shabby  Europeans,  who  had 
arrived  on  foot,  with  all  their  belongings  in  a 
"  taller  "  from  the  station,  had  actually  come  to 
stay,  to  sleep,  to  live  on  the  premises !  Grum- 
bling to  himself,  he  conducted  them  up  an  exceed- 
ingly rickety,  not  to  say  dangerous,  staircase — for 
the  lower  rooms  were  dark  and  damp — to  three 
or  four  large  and  cheerful  apartments,  opening 
on  a  fine  verandah.  Mrs.  Jackson  was  accus- 
tomed to  pitching  her  tent  in  qaeer  places,  and 
in  a  very  short  time  she  had  procured  from  the 
bazaar  a  table,  a  few  chairs,  and  a  couple  of 
charpoys,  and  furnished  two  rooms — she  had  but 
little  to  unpack — whilst  Kadir  Bux,  the  family 
slave,  vibrated  between  cooking  and  chemicals. 
Meanwhile  Mr.  Jackson,  having  washed,  shaved, 
and  invested  himself  in  his  one  linen  collar  and 
black  alpaca  coat,  set  forth  on  a  tour  of  inspec- 

B 


98  TEE  KIIITMATOAR. 

tion,  to  stick  up  posters  and  distribute  cards. 
His  wife  also  made  her  rounds;  the  upper  rooms 
were  habitable,  and  the  verandah  commanded  a 
fine  view ;  it  overlooked  the  park-like  but  neg- 
lected compound,  intersected  with  short  cut  paths, 
and  which,  despite  its  two  grand  entrance  gates, 
was  now  without  hedge  or  paling,  and  quite  open 
to  the  road,  a  road  down  which  not  a  few  ladies 
and  gentlemen  in  bamboo  carts  or  on  ponies  were 
trotting  past  for  their  evening  airing.  Below  the 
suite  Mr.  Jackson  had  chosen,  were  the  dismal 
vault-like  rooms,  the  chowkidar  with  his  charpoy 
and  hukka,  and  beyond,  at  the  back  of  the  bun- 
galow, the  servants'  quarters  and  stables,  both 
roofless.  Behind  these  ruins,  stretched  an  im- 
mense overgrown  garden  (with  ancient,  dried-up 
fruit  trees,  faint  traces  of  walks  and  water- 
channels,  and  a  broken  fountain  and  sundial) 
now  abandoned  to  cattle.  On  the  whole,  Mrs. 
Jackson  was  pleased  with  her  survey.  She  had 
never  as  yet  inhabited  such  a  lordly-looking  man- 
sion, and  felt  more  contented  than  she  had  done 


THE  KFlITMATaAR.  99 

for  a  long  time,  especially  as  Jackson  was  on 
his  best  behaviour— he  had  no  friends  in  the 
place,  and  scarcely  any  funds. 

In  a  short  time  Mr.  Jackson  had  acquired  both. 
His  good  address,  his  gentlemanly  voice,  and 
the  whisper  of  his  having  once  been  an  officer 
who  had  come  to  grief — who  had  been  unfortu- 
nate— went  far  in  a  military  station.  With  ex- 
traordinary discretion  he  kept  his  belongings 
entirely  out  of  sight ;  he  also  kept  sober,  and 
consequently  received  a  number  of  orders  for 
photographs  of  groups,  of  bungalows,  and  of  polo 
ponies.  He  had  the  eye  of  an  artist  and  really 
knew  his  business,  and  although  some  were 
startled  at  the  strength  of  the  pegs  which  he 
accepted,  he  had  a  large  and  lucrative  connection 
in  le§s  than  no  time,  and  rupees  came  flowing  in 
fast.  As  he  and  the  invaluable  Kadir  worked 
together,  he  talked  glibly  to  portly  field-officers 
and  smooth-faced  subalterns,  of  men  whom  lie  had 
known,  men  whose  names  at  least  were  familiar 
to  them — distinguished  veterans,   smart  soldiers, 


lOO  THE  KBITMATOAR. 

and  even  celebrated  personages.  He  attended 
church,  and  sang  lustily  out  of  a  little  old 
Prayer-book,  and  looked  such  a  picture  of  devout, 
decayed  gentility,  that  the  tender-hearted  ladies 
pitied  him  and  thought  him  quite  romantic,  and 
hastened  to  order  photographs  of  all  their  chil- 
dren, or,  children  being  lacking,  dogs.  Little  did 
they  know  that  Mr.  Jackson's  shabby  Prayer- 
book  would  have  been  sold  for  drink  years  pre- 
viously, only  that  he  found  it  an  absolutely 
unmarketable  article ! 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Jackson  was  convinced  that 
she  was  positively  about  to  be  "  a  lady  at  last." 
She  purchased  frocks  for  her  sallow  girls,  a  dress 
and  boots  for  herself;  she  set  up  a  rocking-chair 
and  a  cook,  and  occasionally  drove  to  the  bazaar 
in  a  "  ticca  "  gharry,  where  she  looked  down  with 
splendid  dignity  on  the  busy  bargaining  wives  of 
Tommy  Atkins.  The  chaplain's  lady  had  called 
upon  her,  also  the  barrack-sergeant's  wife,  who 
lived  in  a  small  bungalow  or  quarters  beyond  the 
garden.     She   had   haughtily  snubbed  this   good 


THE  KEITMATGAR.  lOI 

woman  at  first,  but  Bubsequently  had  thawed 
toward  her,  for  several  reasons.  Jackson,  having 
been  uproariously  drunk,  and  unpleasantly  familiar 
to  an  officer,  had  now  fallen  back  on  the  sergeants* 
mess  for  his  society,  and  on  private  soldiers  for 
bis  patrons.  He  was  still  doing  a  roaring  trade, 
especially  in  cartes-de-visite  at  six  rupees  a  dozen. 
He  bragged  and  talked,  and  even  wept,  to  his 
listeners  in  the  barrack-rooms,  and  in  the  can- 
teen :  listeners  who  thought  him  an  uncommonly 
fine  fellow,  liberal  as  a  lord,  flinging  his  coin 
right  and  left.  They  little  guessed  the  usual 
sequel,  or  of  how  the  Jackson  family  were  wont 
to  steal  out  of  a  station  by  rail  in  the  grey  dawn 
of  an  Indian  morning,  leaving  many  poor  natives, 
who  had  supplied  their  wants  in  the  shape  of 
bread  and  meat,  coffee,  and  even  clothes,  to 
bewail  their  too  abrupt  departure.  Jackson  was 
*'  on  the  drink,"  as  his  wife  frankly  expressed  it, 
never  home  before  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  and 
then  had  to  be  helped  upstairs,  and  Mrs.  Jackson 
found  these  evenings  extremely  wearisome.     She 


102  THE  KEITMATQAR. 

rarely  read,  but  she  did  a  little  crochet  and  not  a 
little  scolding ;  she  slept  a  good  deal ;  and,  as 
long  as  her  coffee  and  her  curry  were  well  and 
punctually  served,  she  was  fairly  content,  for  she 
was  naturally  lethargic  and  indolent.  But  still 
she  liked  to  talk,  and  here  she  had  no  one  with 
whom  to  exchange  a  word.  She  pined  for  the 
sound  of  another  female  tongue,  and  accordingly 
one  afternoon  she  arrayed  herself  in  her  new  hat 
with  scarlet  cock's  feathers,  also  her  yellow  silk 
gloves,  and  with  the  cook  as  a  body-servant  and 
to  carry  her  umbrella,  she  sallied  forth  to  return 
the  visit  of  the  barrack-sergeant's  wife.  She  had 
not  far  to  go — only  through  the  garden  and  across 
the  road.  The  barrack-sergeant's  wife  was  knit- 
ting outside  in  her  verandah,  for  the  weather  was 
"  warming  up,"  when  Mrs.  Jackson,  all-gorgeous 
in  her  best  garments,  loomed  upon  her  vision. 
Now,  Mrs.  Clark  "  had  no  notion  of  the  wives  of 
drunken  photographers  giving  themselves  hairs  ! 
And  don't  go  for  to  tell  her  as  ever  that  Jackson 
was  a  gentleman  1      A  fellow   that   went   reeling 


TEE  KHITMATOAB.  I03 

home  from  the  canteen  every  night !  "  But  she 
dissembled  her  feelings  and  stood  up  rather 
stiffly,  and  invited  her  visitor  into  her  drawing- 
room,  a  small  apartment,  the  walls  coloured  grey, 
furnished  with  cheap  straw  chairs,  covered  in 
gaudy  cretonne,  further  embellished  by  billowy 
white  cm'tains,  tottering  little  tables,  and  a  quan- 
tity of  photographs  in  cotton  velvet  frames — a 
room  of  some  pretensions,  and  Mrs.  Clark's  pride. 
Its  unexpected  grandeur  was  a  blow  to  Mrs. 
Jackson,  as  was  also  the  appearance  of  two  cups 
of  tea  on  a  tray,  accompanied  by  a  plate  of  four 
water-biscuits.  It  seemed  to  her  that  Mrs.  Clark 
also  set  up  for  being  quite  the  lady,  although 
her  husband  was  not  a  gentleman.  The  two 
matrons  talked  volubly,  as  they  sipped  their  tea, 
of  bazaar  prices,  cheating  hawkers,  and  the  enor- 
mities of  their  servants.  "My  cook,"  was  con- 
tinually in  Mrs.  Jackson's  mouth.  They  played  a 
fine  game  of  brag,  in  which  Mrs.  Jackson,  de- 
spite her  husband  who  had  been  an  officer,  of  her 
cook,  and  of  her  large  house,  came  off  second  best  I 


I04  TEE  KniTMATOAR. 

"  I  can't  think,"  she  said,  looking  round  con- 
temptuously, '*  how  you  can  bear  to  live  in  th^se 
stuffy  quarters.  I  am  sure  /  couldn't;  it  would 
kill  me  in  a  week.  You  should  see  the  splendid 
rooms  we  have ;  they  do  say  it  was  once  a 
palace,  and  built  by  a  nabob." 

*'  May  be  so,"  coolly  rejoined  her  hostess.  "  I 
know  it  was  a  mess-house,  and  after  that  an 
officers'  chummery,  fifteen  or  twenty  years  ago; 
but  no  one  would  live  there  now,  unless  they  had 
no  other  roof  to  cover  them,  and  came  to  a  place 
like  a  parcel  of  beggars  !  " 

"Why,  what's  up  with  it?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Jackson,  suddenly  becoming  of  a  dusky  puce,  even 
through  her  pearl-powder. 

"  Don't  you  know — and  you  there  this  two 
months  and  more  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  don't ;  what  is  there  to  know  ?  " 

"  And  haven't  you  seen  him  ?  "  demanded  Mrs. 
Clarke,  in  a  key  of  intense  surprise — "  I  mean  the 
Khitmatgar  ?  " 

"  I  declare  I  don't  know  what  yon  are  talking 


.  TEE  KHITMATQAB.  I05 

about,"  cried  the  other,  peevishly,  "  What  Khit- 
matgar  ?  " 

"What  Khitmatgar?  Hark  at  her!  Why,  a 
short,  square-shouldered  man,  in  a  smart  blue  coat, 
with  a  regimental  badge  in  his  turban.  He  has 
very  sticking-out,  curling  black  whiskers,  and  a 
pair  of  wicked  eyes  that  look  as  if  they  could  stab 
you,  though  he  salaams  to  the  ground  whenever 
you  meet  him." 

"I  believe  I  have  seen  him,  now  you  mention 
it,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Jackson ;  **  rather  a  tidy-looking 
servant,  with,  as  you  say,  a  bad  expression.  But 
bless  you !  we  have  such  crowds  of  officers'  mes- 
sengers coming  with  chits  to  my  husband,  I  never 
know  who  they  are  !  I've  seen  him  now  and  then, 
of  an  evening,  I'm  sure,  though  I  don't  know  what 
brought  him,  or  whose  servant  he  is." 

•*  Servant !  "  echoed  the  other.  "  Why,  he  is  a 
ghost — the  ghost  what  ha?ints  the  bungalow  !  " 

"  Ah,  now,  Mrs.  Clark,"  said  her  visitor,  patron- 
izingly, "you  don't  tell  me  you  believe  such 
rubbish  ?  " 


I06  THE   KIllTMATOAR. 

"Eubbish!"  indignantly,  "is  it?  Oh,  just 
you  wait  and  see.  Ask  old  Mr.  Soames,  the 
pensioner,  as  has  been  here  this  thirty  year — 
ask  any  one — and  they  will  all  tell  you  the  same 
story." 

"  Story,  indeed !  "  cried  Mrs.  Jackson,  with  a 
loud,  rude  laugh. 

"  Well,  it's  a  true  story,  ma'am — but  you  need 
not  hear  it  unless  you  like  it." 

"  Oh,  but  I  should  like  to  hear  it  very  much," 
her  naturally  robust  curiosity  coming  to  the  front. 
"Please  do  tell  it  to  me." 

**  Well,  twenty  years  ago,  more  or  less,  some 
young  officers  lived  in  that  bungalow,  and  one  of 
them  in  a  passion  killed  his  Khitmatgar.  They 
say  he  never  meant  to  do  it,  but  the  fellow  was 
awfully  cheeky,  and  he  threw  a  bottle  at  his  head 
and  stretched  him  dead.  It  was  all  hushed  up, 
but  that  young  officer  came  to  a  bad  end,  and  the 
house  began  to  get  a  bad  name — people  died  there 
60  often ;  two  officers  of  delirium  tremens ;  one  cut 
his  throat,   another   fell   over   the   verandah  and 


TIIE   KEITMATGAB.  I07 

broke  bis  neck — and  so  it  stands  empty !  No  one 
stays  a  week." 

**  And  why?"  demanded  the  other,  boldly.  "  Lots 
of  people  die  in  houses;  they  must  die  some- 
where." 

"  But  not  as  they  do  there  !  "  shrilly  interrupted 
Mrs.  Clark.  "The  Khitmatgar  comes  round  at 
dusk,  or  at  night,  just  like  an  ordinary  servant, 
with  pegs  or  lemonade  and  so  on.  Whoever  takes 
anything  from  his  hand  -seems  to  get  a  sort  of 
madness  on  them,  and  goes  and  destroys  them- 
selves." 

**  It's  a  fine  tale,  and  you  tell  it  very  weU,"  said 
Mrs.  Jackson,  rising  and  nodding  her  red  cock's 
feathers,  and  her  placid,  dark,  fat  face.  "  There 
does  be  such  in  every  station  ;  people  must  talk, 
but  they  won't  frighten  me." 

And  having  issued  this  manifesto,  she  gave  her 
hostess  a  limp  shake  of  the  hand  and  waddled 
off. 

**  She's  jealous  of  the  grand  big  house,  and  fine 
compound,  fit  for  gentry,"  said  Mrs.  Jackson  to 


I08  THE  KniTMATQAB. 

herself,  "  and  she  thinks  to  get  me  out  of  it.  Not 
that  she  could  get  in  1  for  she  has  to  live  in 
quarters ;  and  she  is  just  a  dog  in  the  manger, 
and,  anyways,  it's  a  made-up  story  from  first  tc 
last!" 

As  she  reached  her  abode,  and  called  "  Qui  hait 
hvitie  Zoo  / "  a  figure  came  out  from  the  passage, 
salaamed  respectfully,  and,  by  the  light  of  a  two- 
anna  lamp  on  the  staircase,  she  descried  the 
strange  Khitmatgar,  whose  appearance  was  per- 
fectly familiar  to  her — a  short,  square,  surly-looking 
person.  No  doubt  he  was  one  of  Kadir's  many 
friends;  the  lower  rooms  were  generally  overrun 
with  his  visitors. 

**  Send  Kadir  !  "  she  said  imperiously,  and  went 
upstairs,  and  as  she  spoke  the  man  salaamed  again 
and  vanished. 

The  wife  of  his  bosom  had  a  fine  tale  to  tell 
Mr.  Jackson  the  next  morning,  as,  with  a  very 
shaky  hand,  he  was  touching  up  some  plates  in 
his  own  room. 

**  A  Khitmatgar  that  offers  free  pegs  !  "  he  ex 


THE  KHITMATQAB,  1 09 

claimed,  with  a  shout  of  laughter.  *'  Too  good  to 
be  true.  Why,  I'd  take  a  whisky  and  soda  from 
the  devil  himself — and  glad  to  get  it.  My  mouth 
is  like  a  lime-kiln  at  this  moment — Qui  hai ! 
whisky -pani  do  /  ** 

Many  days,  warm  and  sweltering  days,  rolled 
on ;  the  hot  winds  blew  the  crackling  leaves  before 
them,  blew  great  clouds  of  red  dust  along  the 
roads,  blew  ladies  up  to  the  hills,  and  dispersed 
many  of  Jackson's  patrons.  But  he  did  not  care ; 
he  had  made  a  good  many  rupees ;  he  had  more 
than  one  boon-companion,  and  he  drank  harder 
than  ever.  **  Why  not  ?  "  he  demanded ;  "  he  had 
earned  the  money,  and  had  the  best  right  to  spend 
it."  He  was  earning  none  now.  When  customers 
came,  Kadir  always  informed  them  the  sahib  was 
sota  (asleep).  Yes,  sleeping  off  the  effects  of  the 
preceding  night.  Mrs.  Jackson  was  accustomed 
to  this  state  of  affairs,  and  what  she  called  his 
"attacks."  She  rocked  herself,  fanned  herself 
and  dozed,  and  did  a  little  crochet,  whilst  the  two 
children  played  quietly  in  a  back  room,  with  old 


no  THE  EniTMATQAR. 

photographs  and  bits  of  cardboard.  When  her 
husband  did  awake,  and  enjoy  a  few  hours'  lucid 
interval,  it  was  only  to  recall  bihs  and  duns,  and 
flashes  of  his  old  life  :  the  cool  green  park  at 
home,  the  hunting-field,  reviews  at  Aldershot,  his 
pretty  cousin  Ethel.  Then  the  chill  reality  forced 
itself  upon  his  half-crazy  brain.  The  park  was 
this  great,  barren,  scorched  compound,  with  the 
hot  winds  roaring  across  it;  the  figure  in  the 
verandah  was  not  Ethel  in  her  riding-habit,  but 
Fernanda  in  carpet  slippers  and  a  greasy  old 
dressing-gown.     Was  this  life  worth  living  ? 

Mrs.  Jackson  had  seen  the  Khitmatgar  several 
times;  once  she  noticed  him  looking  down  at  her 
as  she  ascended  the  stairs,  once  he  had  ap- 
peared in  answer  to  her  call,  carrying  a  tray 
and  glasses,  but  she  had  boldly  waved  him  away, 
and  said,  "Send  Kadir;  why  does  he  allow 
strangers  to  do  his  work?"  There  was  some- 
thing far  too  human  about  the  appearance  of  the 
man  for  her  to  give  a  moment's  credence  to  the 
ghost-story. 


THE  KHITMATGAB.  Ill 

One  still  hot  night,  a  night  as  bright  as  day, 
Mrs.  Jackson  found  the  air  so  oppressive  that  she 
could  not  sleep.  She  lay  tossing  from  side  to  side 
on  her  charpoy,  looking  out  on  the  moon-flooded 
verandah,  and  listening  to  the  indefatigable  brain* 
fever  bird,  when  suddenly  she  heard  her  husband's 
familiar  call,  "  Qui  hai,  peg  laof"  He  had  been 
drinking  as  usual,  and  had  fallen  into  a  sodden 
sleep  in  his  own  room. 

After  an  unusually  short  interval,  steps  came 
up  the  stairs,  shoes  were  audibly  slipped  off,  and 
there  were  sounds  of  the  jingling  of  a  glass  and 
bottle. 

The  door  of  Mrs.  Jackson's  apartment  opened 
into  the  verandah  and  stood  wide,  on  account  of 
the  intense  breathless  heat  of  that  Indian  night. 
In  a  few  moments  some  one  came  and  paused  on 
the  threshold,  tray  in  hand,  some  one  who  sur- 
veyed her  with  a  grin  of  Satanic  satisfaction.  It 
was  the  strange  Khitmatgar !  There  was  a 
triumphant  expression  in  his  eyes  that  made  her 
blood  run  cold,  and  whilst   she  gazed,  transfixed 


112  TUE  KniTMATQAR. 

with  horror,  he  salaamed  and  was  gone.  In 
a  second  she  had  jumped  out  of  bed;  she 
ran  into  the  verandah.  Yes,  the  long  verandah 
was  empty — he  had  disappeared.  She  called 
excitedly  to  her  husband ;  no  answer.  She  rushed 
into  his  room,  to  unfold  her  experience.  Jackson 
was  sitting  at  the  table,  or  rather  half  lying  across 
it,  his  hands  clenched,  his  features  convulsed,  his 
eyes  fixed — quite  dead. 

He  had  swallowed  one  of  his  chemicals,  a  fatal 
poison.  Of  course,  there  was  the  usual  ephemeral 
excitement  occasioned  by  a  tragedy  in  the  station, 
the  usual  inquest  and  verdict  of  temporary  insanity, 
and  then  a  new  nameless  grave  in  the  corner  of  the 
cantonment  cemetery. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Jackson's  fate  was  generally  attributed  to  whisky 
— or  filthy  country  liquor.  "  Poor  fellow !  his 
position  preyed  on  his  mind,  and  he  drank  himself 
to  death." 

This  was  the  universal  opinion  in  mess-room, 
barrack  -  room,    and    bazaar.      But    there    were 


TEE    ^E/TAfAl'^lJR.  II3 

one  or  two  people,  including  his  wife  and  Mrs. 
Clark,  who  thought  otherwise,  and  who  gravely 
shook  their  heads  and  whispered — "  The  Khit- 
matgar.'* 


(     IM     ) 


THE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOR. 

"  When  shall  these  phantoms  flicker  away. 

Like  the  smoke  of  the  guns  on  the  wind-swept  hill ; 
Like  the  Bounds  and  colours  of  yesterday, 
And  the  soul  have  rest,  and  the  air  be  still  ?  " 

Sib  a.  Ltall. 

"  And  so  you  two  young  women  are  going  off 
on  a  three  days'  journey,  all  by  yourselves,  in  a 
bullock  tonga,  to  spend  Christmas  with  your 
husbands  in  the  jungle  ?  " 

The  speaker  was  Mrs.  Duff,  the  wife  of  our 
deputy  commissioner,  and  the  two  enterprising 
young  women  were  Mrs.  Goodchild,  the  wife  of 
the  police  officer  of  the  district,  and  myself,  wife 
of  the  forest  officer.  We  were  the  only  ladies  in 
Karwassa,  a  little  up-country  station,  more  than 
a  hundred  miles  from  the  line  of  rail.  Karwassa 
was  a  pretty  place,  an  oasis  of  civilization,  amid 


TEE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOR.       II5 

leagues  and  leagues  of  surrounding  forest  and 
jungle ;  it  boasted  a  post-office,  public  gardens 
(with  tennis  courts),  a  tiny  church,  a  few  well- 
kept  shady  roads,  and  half  a  dozen  thatched 
bungalows,  surrounded  by  luxuriant  gardens. 
In  the  hot  weather  all  the  community  were  at 
home,  under  the  shelter  of  their  own  roof-trees 
and  punkahs,  and  within  reach  of  ice — for  we 
actually  boasted  an  ice  machine !  During  these 
hot  months  we  had,  so  to  speak,  our  *'  season." 
The  deputy  commissioner,  forest  officer,  police 
officer,  doctor,  and  engineer  were  all  "in,"  and 
our  gaieties  took  the  form  of  tennis  at  daybreak, 
moonlight  picnics,  whist-parties,  little  dinners,  and 
now  and  then  a  beat  for  tiger,  on  which  occasions 
we  ladies  were  safely  roosted  in  trustworthy  trees. 
It  is  whispered  that  in  small  and  isolated 
stations  the  fair  sex  are  either  mortal  enemies 
or  bosom-friends !  I  am  proud  to  be  in  a 
position  to  state  that  we  ladies  of  Karwassa 
came  under  the  latter  head.  Mrs.  Goodchild 
and  I  were  especially  intimate;    we   were   nearly 


Il6      THE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOIt. 

the  same  age,  we  were  young,  we  had  been 
married  in  the  same  year  and  tasted  our  first 
experiences  of  India  together.  We  lent  each  other 
books,  we  read  each  other  our  home  letters, 
helped  to  compose  one  another's  dirzee-made 
costumes,  and  poured  little  confidences  into  one 
another's  ears.  We  had  made  numerous  joint 
excursions  in  the  cold  season,  had  been  out  in  the 
same  camp  for  a  month  at  a  time,  and  when  our 
husbands  were  in  a  malarious  or  uncivilized  dis- 
trict, had  journeyed  on  horseback  or  in  a  bullock 
tonga  and  joined  them  at  some  accessible  spot,  in 
the  regions  of  dak  bungalows  and  bazaar  fowl. 

Mrs.  Duff,  stout,  elderly,  and  averse  to  locomo- 
tion, contented  herself  with  her  comfortable 
bungalow  at  Karwassa,  her  weekly  budget  of 
letters  from  her  numerous  olive-branches  in 
England,  and  with  adventures  and  thrilling 
experiences  at  secondhand. 

"  And  so  you  are  off  to-morrow,"  she  continued, 
addressing  herself  to  Mrs.  Goodchild.  "  I  suppose 
you  know  where  you  are  going  ? " 


TEE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOIi.       liy 

**Yes,"  returned  my  companion  promptly, 
unfolding  a  piece  of  foolscap  as  she  spoke ;  "  I 
had  a  letter  from  Frank  this  morning,  and  he 
has  enclosed  a  plan  copied  from  the  D.  P.  W. 
map.  We  go  straight  along  the  trunk  road  for 
two  days,  stopping  at  Korai  bungalow  the  first 
night  and  Kular  the  second,  you  see ;  then  we 
turn  off  to  the  left  on  the  Old  Jubbulpore  Koad 
and  make  a  march  of  twenty-five  miles,  halting 
at  a  place  called  Chanda.  Frank  and  Mr.  Loyd 
will  meet  us  there  on  Christmas  Day." 

**  Chanda — Chanda,"  repeated  Mrs.  Duff,  with 
her  hand  to  her  head.  "  Isn't  there  some  queer 
story  about  a  bungalow  near  there — that  is 
unhealthy — or  haunted — or  something  ?  " 

Julia  Goodchild  and  I  glanced  at  one  another 
significantly.  Mrs.  Duff  had  set  her  face  against 
our  expedition  all  along;  she  wanted  us  to 
remain  in  the  station  and  spend  Christmas  with 
her,  instead  of  going  this  wild-goose  chase  into 
a  part  of  the  district  we  had  never  been  in 
before.     She  assured  us  that  we  would  be  short 


Il8       TDE  DAK   BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOR. 

of  bullocks,  and  would  probably  have  to  walk  miles; 
she  had  harangued  us  on  the  subject  of  fever  and 
cholera  and  bad  water,  had  warned  us  solemnly 
against  dacoits,  and  now  she  was  hinting  at  ghosts. 

"Frank  says  that  the  travellers'  bungalows 
after  we  leave  the  main  road  are  not  in  very 
good  repair — the  road  is  so  little  used  now  that 
the  new  railway  line  comes  within  twenty  miles  ; 
but  he  says  that  the  one  at  Chanda  is  very 
decent,  and  we  will  push  on  there,"  returned 
Julia,  firmly.  Julia  was  nothing  if  not  firm ;  she 
particularly  prided  herself  on  never  swerving 
from  any  fixed  resolution  or  plan.  **  We  take 
my  bullock  tonga,  and  Mr.  Loyd's  peon  Abdul, 
who  is  a  treasure,  as  you  know ;  he  can  cook, 
interpret,  forage  for  provisions,  and  drive  bullocks 
if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst." 

"And  what  about  bullocks  for  three  days* 
journey — a  hundred  miles  if  it's  a  yard  ? " 
inquired  Mrs.  Duff,  sarcastically. 

"  Oh,  the  bazaar  master  has  sent  on  a 
chuprassie  and  five  natives,  and  we  shall  find  a 


277^  DAK  £  UNO  ALOW  AT  DAEOIi.       IIQ 

pair  every  five  miles  at  the  usual  stages.  As  to 
food,  we  are  taking  tea,  bread,  plenty  of  tinned 
stores,  and  the  plum-pudding.  We  shall  have  a 
capital  outing,  I  assure  you,  and  I  only  wish  we 
could  have  persuaded  you  into  coming  with  us." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Duff,  with 
a  patronizing  smile.  **  I'm  too  old,  and  I  hope 
too  sensible  to  take  a  trip  of  a  hundred  miles  in 
a  bullock  tonga,  risking  fever  and  dacoits  and 
dak  bungalows  full  of  bandicoots,  just  for  the 
sentimental  pleasure  of  eating  a  pudding  with  my 
husband.  However,  you  are  both  young  and 
hardy  and  full  of  spirits,  and  I  wish  you  a  happy 
Christmas,  a  speedy  journey  and  safe  return. 
Mind  you  take  plenty  of  quinine — and  a  revolver ;  " 
and,  with  this  cheerful  parting  suggestion,  she 
conducted  us  into  the  front  verandah  and  dis- 
missed us  each  with  a  kiss,  that  was  at  once  a 
remonstrance  and  a  valediction. 

Behold  us  the  next  morning,  at  sunrise,  jogging 
off,  behind  a  pair  of  big  white  bullocks,  in  the 
highest  spirits.     In  the  front  seat  of  the  tonga  we 


I20      TEE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOB. 

had  stowed  a  well-filled  tiffin  basket,  two  Gladstone 
bags,  our  blankets  and  pillows,  a  hamper  of  pro- 
visions, and  last,  not  least,  Abdul.  Julia  and  I 
and  Julia's  dog  **  Boss  "  occupied  the  back  seat, 
and  as  we  rumbled  past  Mrs.  Duffs  bungalow, 
•with  its  still  silent  compound  and  closed  Vene- 
tians, we  mutually  agreed  that  she  was  "  a  silly 
old  thing,"  that  she  would  have  far  more  enjoy- 
ment of  life  if  she  was  as  enterprising  as  we  were. 
Our  first  day's  journey  went  off  without  a  hitch. 
Fresh  and  well-behaved  cattle  punctually  awaited 
us  at  every  stage.  The  country  we  passed 
through  was  picturesque  and  well  wooded ;  doves, 
peacocks,  and  squirrels  enlivened  the  roads  ;  big 
black-faced  monkeys  peered  at  us  from  amid  the 
crops  that  they  were  ravaging  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  our  route.  The  haunt  of  a  well-known 
man-eating  tiger  was  impressively  pointed  out  to 
us  by  our  cicerone  Abdul — this  beast  resided  in 
some  dense  jungle,  that  was  unpleasantly  close 
to  human  traffic.  Morning  and  afternoon  wore 
away  speedily,  and  at  sundown  we  found  ourselves 


THE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOR.      121 

in  front  of  the  very  neat  travellers'  bungalow  at 
Korai.  The  interior  was  scrupulously  clean,  and 
contained  the  usual  furniture :  two  beds,  two 
tables,  four  chairs,  lamps,  baths,  a  motley  collec- 
tion of  teacups  and  plates,  and  last,  not  least, 
the  framed  rules  of  the  establishment  and  visitors* 
book.  The  khansamah  cooked  us  an  excellent 
dinner  (for  a  travellers'  bungalow),  and,  tired  out, 
we  soon  went  to  bed  and  slept  the  sleep  of  the 
just.  The  second  day  was  the  same  as  the  first 
— highly  successful  in  every  respect. 

On  the  third  morning  we  left  the  great  highway 
and  turned  to  the  left,  on  to  what  was  called  the 
Old  Jubbulpore  Road,  and  here  our  troubles  com- 
menced !  Bullocks  were  bad,  lame,  small,  or  un- 
broken; one  of  Mrs.  Duff's  dismal  prophecies 
came  to  pass,  for  after  enduring  bullocks  who  lay 
down,  who  kicked  and  ran  off  the  road  into  their 
owners'  houses,  or  rushed  violently  down  steep 
places,  we  arrived  at  one  stage  where  there  were 
no  bullocks  at  all!  It  was  four  o'clock,  and  we 
were  still  sixteen  miles  from  Chanda.      After  a 


122       THE  DAK   DUAOALOW  AT  DAKOB. 

short  consultation,  Julia  and  I  agreed  to  walk  on 
to  the  next  stage  or  village,  leaving  Abdul  to  draw 
the  neighbourhood  for  a  pair  of  cattle  and  then  to 
overtake  us  at  express  speed. 

**  No  one  coming  much  this  road  now,  mem 
sahib,"  he  explained  apologetically ;  "  village 
people  never  keeping  tonga  bullocks — only  plough 
bullocks,  and  plenty  bobbery." 

"  Bobbery  or  not,  get  them,"  said  Julia  with 
much  decision  ;  "  no  matter  if  you  pay  four  times 
the  usual  fare.  We  shall  expect  you  to  overtake 
us  in  half  an  hour."  And  having  issued  this 
edict  we  walked  on,  leaving  Abdul,  a  bullock-man, 
and  two  villagers  all  talking  together  and  yelling 
at  one  another  at  the  top  of  their  voices. 

Our  road  was  dry  and  sandy,  and  lay  through 
a  perfectly  flat  country.  It  was  lined  here  and 
there  by  rows  of  graceful  trees,  covered  with 
wreaths  of  yellow  flowers ;  now  and  then  it  was 
bordered  by  a  rude  thorn  hedge,  inside  of  which 
waved  a  golden  field  of  ripe  jawarri;  in  distant 
dips  in  the  landscape  we    beheld  noble  topes  of 


THE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOB.       I  23 

forest  trees  and  a  few  red-roofed  dwellings — the 
abodes  of  the  tillers  of  the  soil ;  but,  on  the  whole, 
the  country  was  silent  and  lonely ;  the  few  people 
we  encountered  driving  their  primitive  little  carts 
stared  hard  at  us  in  utter  stupefaction,  as  well  they 
might — two  mem  sahibs  trudging  along,  with  no 
escort  except  a  panting  white  dog.  The  insolent 
crows  and  lazy  blue  buffaloes  all  gazed  at  us  in 
undisguised  amazement  as  we  wended  our  way 
through  this  monotonous  and  melancholy  scene. 
One  milestone  was  passed  and  then  another,  and 
yet  another,  and  still  no  sign  of  Abdul,  much  less 
the  tonga.  At  length  we  came  in  sight  of  a  large 
village  that  stretched  in  a  ragged  way  at  either 
side  of  the  road.  There  were  the  usual  little  mud 
hovels,  shops  displaying,  say,  two  bunches  of 
plantains  and  a  few  handfuls  of  grain,  the  usual 
collection  of  gaunt  red  pariah  dogs,  naked  chil- 
dren, and  unearthly-looking  cats  and  poultry. 

Julia  and  I  halted  afar  off  under  a  tree,  prefer- 
ring to  wait  for  Abdul  to  chaperon  us,  ere  we  ran 
the   gauntlet   of    the   village   streets.     Time   was 


124      THE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOR. 

getting  on,  the  sun  was  setting ;  men  were  return- 
ing from  the  fields,  driving  bony  bullocks  before 
them ;  women  were  returning  from  the  well,  with 
water  and  the  last  bit  of  scandal ;  at  last,  to  our 
great  relief,  we  beheld  Abdul  approaching  with 
the  tonga,  and  our  spirits  rose,  for  we  had  begun 
to  ask  one  another  if  we  were  to  spend  the  night 
sitting  on  a  stone  under  a  tamarind  tree  without 
the  village. 

**  No  bullocks,"  was  Abdul's  explanation.  The 
same  tired  pair  had  come  on  most  reluctantly, 
and  in  this  village  of  cats  and  cocks  and  hens 
it  was  the  same  story — "no  bullocks."  Abdul 
brought  us  this  heavy  and  unexpected  intelligence 
after  a  long  and  animated  interview  with  the  head 
man  of  the  place. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ? "  we  demanded  in  a 
breath. 

"  Stop  here  all  night ;  going  on  to-morrow." 

"  Stop  where  ?  "  we  almost  screamed. 

"  Over  there,"  rejoined  Abdul,  pointing  to  a 
grove  of  trees  at  some  little  distance.     "  There  is 


THE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  BAKOR.       1 25 

a  travellers'  bungalow;  Chanda  is  twelve  miles 
off." 

A  travellers*  bungalow  !  Sure  enough  there  was 
a  building  of  some  kind  beyond  the  bamboos,  and 
we  lost  no  time  in  getting  into  the  tonga  and 
having  ourselves  driven  in  that  direction.  As  we 
passed  the  village  street,  many  came  out  and 
stared,  and  one  old  woman  shook  her  hand  in  a 
warning  manner,  and  called  out  something  in  a 
shrill  cracked  voice. 

An  avenue  of  feathery  bamboos  led  to  our  desti- 
nation, which  proved  to  be  the  usual  travellers' 
rest-house,  with  white  walls,  red  roof,  and  roomy 
verandah ;  but  when  we  came  closer,  we  dis- 
covered that  the  drive  was  as  grass-grown  as  a 
field;  jungle  grew  up  to  the  back  of  the  house, 
heavy  wooden  shutters  closed  all  the  windows,  and 
the  door  was  locked.  There  was  a  forlorn,  deso- 
late, dismal  appearance  about  the  place ;  it  looked 
as  if  it  had  not  been  visited  for  years.  In  answer 
to  our  shouts  and  calls  no  one  appeared ;  but,  as 
we  were  fully  resolved  to  spend  the  night  there,  we 


126      THE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOR. 

had  the  tonga  unloaded  and  our  effects  placed  in 
the  verandah,  the  hullocks  untackled  and  turned 
out  among  the  long  rank  grass.  At  length  an  old 
man  in  dirty  ragged  clothes,  and  with  a  villainous 
expression  of  countenance,  appeared  from  some 
back  cook-house,  and  seemed  anything  but  pleased 
to  see  us.  When  Abdul  told  him  of  our  intention 
of  occupying  the  house,  he  would  not  hear  of  it. 

**  The  bungalow  was  out  of   repair ;    it   had   not 
been  opened  for  years ;  it  was  full  of  rats ;  it  was 

unhealthy ;  plenty  fever  coming.     We  must  go  on 

to  Chanda." 

Naturally  we  declined  his  hospitable  suggestion. 

**  Was  he  the  khansamah — caretaker  of  the  place?" 

we  inquired  imperiously. 

"Yees,"  he  admitted  with  a  grunt. 

"  Drawing  government  pay,  and  refusing  to  open 

a   government   travellers'   bungalow ! "    screamed 

Julia.     "  Let  us  have  no  more  of  this  nonsense ; 

open  the  house  at  once  and  get  it  ready  for  us, 

or  I  shall  report  you  to  the  commissioner  sahib." 
The  khansamah    gave   her    an   evil  look,   said 


TEE  BAR  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOR.      12/ 

"Missus  please,"  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
hobbled  away — as  we  hoped,  to  get  the  key ;  but 
after  waiting  ten  minutes  we  sent  Abdul  to  search 
for  him,  and  found  that  he  had  departed — his  lair 
was  empty.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
break  the  padlock  on  the  door,  which  Abdul 
effected  with  a  stone,  and  as  soon  as  the  door 
moved  slowly  back  on  its  hinges  Julia  and  I 
hurried  in.  What  a  dark,  damp  place !  What  a 
Bmell  of  earth,  and  what  numbers  of  bats ;  they 
flew  right  in  our  faces  as  we  stood  in  the  doorway 
and  tried  to  make  out  the  interior.  Abdul  and 
the  bullock-man  quickly  removed  the  shutters 
and  let  in  the  light,  and  then  we  beheld  the  usual 
dak  sitting-room — a  table,  chairs,  and  two  charpoys 
(native  beds),  and  an  old  pair  of  candlesticks ; 
the  table  and  chairs  were  covered  with  mould  ; 
cobwebs  hung  from  the  ceiling  in  dreadful  festoons, 
and  the  walls  were  streaked  with  dreary  green 
stains.  I  could  not  restrain  an  involuntary 
Bhudder  as  I  looked  about  me  rather  blankly. 
*'  I  should  think  this  was  an  unhealthy  place !  " 


128      THE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOR 

1  remarked  to  Julia.  **  It  looks  feverish ;  and 
Bee — the  jungle  comes  right  up  to  the  back 
verandah ;  fever  plants,  castor-oil  plants,  young 
bamboos,  all  growing  up  to  the  very  walls." 

**  It  will  do  very  well  for  to-night,"  she  returned. 
"  Come  out  and  walk  down  the  road  whilst  Abdul 
and  the  bullock-man  clean  out  the  rooms  and  get 
dinner.  Abdul  is  a  wonderful  man — and  we 
won't  know  the  place  in  an  hour's  time ;  it's  just 
the  same  as  any  other  travellers'  bungalow,  only 
it  has  been  neglected  for  years.  I  shall  certainly 
report  that  old  wretch !  The  idea  of  a  dak 
bungalow  caretaker  refusing  admittance  and  run- 
ning away  with  the  key!  What  is  the  name  of 
this  place  ?  "  she  asked,  deliberately  taking  out  her 
pocket-book ;  **  did  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  believe  it  is  called  Dakor." 

"Ah,  well!  I  shall  not  forget  to  tell  Frank 
about  the  way  we  were  treated  at  Dakor  bunga- 
low." 

The  red,  red  sun  had  set  at  last — gone  down, 
as  it  were,  abruptly  behind  the  fiat  horizon ;  the 


TEE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOB.       I  29 

air  began  to  feel  chilly,  and  the  owl  and  the 
jackal  were  commencing  to  make  themselves 
heard,  so  we  sauntered  back  to  the  bungalow, 
and  found  it  indeed  transformed:  swept  and 
garnished,  and  clean.  The  table  was  neatly  laid 
for  dinner,  and  one  of  our  own  fine  hurricane 
lamps  blazed  upon  it;  our  beds  had  been  made 
up  with  our  rugs  and  blankets,  one  at  either  end 
of  the  room ;  hot  water  and  towels  were  prepared 
in  a  bath-room,  and  we  saw  a  roaring  fire  in  the 
cook-house  in  the  jungle.  Dinner,  consisting  of 
a  sudden-death  fowl,  curry,  bread,  and  pate 
de  foie  gras,  was,  to  our  unjaded  palates,  an 
excellent  meal.  Our  spirits  rose  to  normal,  the 
result  of  food  and  light,  and  we  declared  to  one 
another  that  this  old  bungalow  was  a  capital  find, 
and  that  it  was  really  both  comfortable  and 
cheerful,  despite  a  slight  arricre  pensee  of  earth  in 
the  atmosphere ! 

Before  going  to  bed  we  explored  the  next  room, 
a  smaller  one  than  that  we  occupied,  and  empty 
save  for  a  rickety  camp  table,   which  held  some 

E 


130      THE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAEOE. 

dilapidated  crockery  and  a  press.  Need  you  ask 
if  we  opened  this  press  ?  The  press  smelt  strongly 
of  mushrooms,  and  contained  a  man's  topee,  inch- 
deep  with  mould,  a  tiffin  basket,  and  the  bungalow 
visitors'  book.  We  carried  this  away  with  us  to 
read  at  leisure,  for  the  visitors'  book  in  dak 
bungalows  occasionally  contains  some  rather 
amusing  observations.  There  was  nothing  funny 
in  this  musty  old  volume !  Merely  a  statement 
of  who  came,  and  how  long  they  stayed,  and  what 
they  paid,  with  a  few  remarks,  not  by  any  means 
complimentary  to  the  khansamah :  **  A  dirty, 
lazy  rascal,"  said  one;  **A  murderous-looking 
ruffian,"  said  another;  "An  insolent,  drunken 
hound,"  said  a  third — the  last  entry  was  dated 
seven  years  previously. 

"  Let  us  write  our  names,"  said  Julia,  taking 
out  her  pencil ;  ** '  Mrs.  Goodchild  and  Mrs.  Loyd, 
December  23rd.  Bungalow  deserted,  and  very 
dirty  khansamah.'  What  shall  we  say  ? "  she 
asked,  glancing  at  me  interrogatively. 

*■  Why,  there  he  is !  "   I  returned  with  a  little 


TM^  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOR.       I31 

jump;  and  there  he  was  sure  enough,  gazing  in 
through  the  window.  It  was  the  face  of  some 
malicious  animal,  more  than  the  face  of  a  man, 
that  glowered  out  beneath  his  filthy  red  turban. 
His  eyes  glared  and  rolled  as  if  they  would  leave 
their  sockets ;  his  teeth  were  fangs,  like  dogs' 
teeth,  and  stood  out  almost  perpendicularly  from 
his  hideous  mouth.  He  surveyed  us  for  a  few 
seconds  in  savage  silence,  and  then  melted  away 
into  the  surrounding  darkness  as  suddenly  as  he 
appeared. 

**  He  reminds  me  of  the  Cheshire  cat  in  *  Alice 
in  Wonderland,' "  said  Julia  with  would-be 
faceliousness,  but  I  noticed  that  she  looked  rather 
pale. 

"Let  us  have  the  shutters  up  at  once,"  I 
replied,  **  and  have  them  well  barred  and  the 
doors  bolted.  That  man  looked  as  if  he  could 
cut  our  throats." 

In  a  very  short  time  the  house  was  made  fast. 
Abdul  and  the  bullock-man  spread  their  mats 
in   the  front  verandah,   and  Julia  and  I  retired 


132       THE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOR. 

for  the  night.  Before  going  to  bed  we  had  a 
controversy  about  the  lamp.  I  wished  to  keep 
it  burning  all  night  (I  am  a  coward  at  heart), 
but  Julia  would  not  hear  of  this — impossible  for 
her  to  sleep  with  a  light  in  the  room — and  in  the 
end  I  was  compelled  to  be  content  with  a  candle 
and  matches  on  a  chair  beside  me.  I  fell  asleep 
very  soon.  I  fancy  I  must  have  slept  long  and 
soundly,  when  I  was  awoke  by  a  bright  light 
shining  in  my  eyes.  So,  after  the  ridiculous  fuss 
she  had  made,  Julia  had  lit  the  candle  after  all ! 
This  was  my  first  thought,  but  when  I  was  fully 
awake  I  found  I  was  mistaken,  or  dreaming.  No, 
I  was  not  dreaming,  for  I  pinched  my  arm  and 
rubbed  my  eyes.  There  was  a  man  in  the  room, 
apparently  another  traveller,  who  appeared  to  be 
totally  unaware  of  our  vicinity,  and  to  have  made 
himself  completely  at  home.  A  gun-case,  a  tiffin 
basket,  a  bundle  of  pillows  and  rugs — the  usual 
Indian  traveller's  belongings — la.y  carelessly  scat- 
tered about  on  the  chairs  and  the  floor.  I  leant 
up  on  my  elbow  and    gazed   at   the   intruder  in 


TEE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOR.       1 33 

profound  amazement.  He  did  not  notice  me,  no 
more  than  if  I  had  no  existence;  true,  my 
charpoy  was  in  a  corner  of  the  room  and  rather 
in  the  shade,  so  was  Julia's.  JuHa  was  sound 
asleep  and  (low  be  it  spoken)  snoring.  The 
Btranger  was  writing  a  letter  at  the  table  facing 
me.  Both  candles  were  drawn  up  close  to  him, 
and  threw  a  searching  light  upon  his  features. 
He  was  young  and  good-looking,  but  very,  very 
pale ;  possibly  he  had  just  recovered  from  some 
long  illness.  I  could  not  see  his  eyes,  they  were 
bent  upon  the  paper  before  him;  his  hands,  I 
noticed,  were  well  shaped,  white,  and  very  thin. 
He  wore  a  signet -ring  on  the  third  finger  of  the 
left  hand,  and  was  dressed  with  a  care  and  finish 
not  often  met  with  in  the  jungle.  He  wore  some 
kind  of  light  Norfolk  jacket  and  a  blue  bird's-eye 
tie.  In  front  of  him  stood  an  open  despatch-box, 
very  shabby  and  scratched,  and  I  could  see  that 
the  upper  tray  contained  a  stout  roundabout  bag, 
presumably  full  of  rupees,  a  thick  roll  of  notes, 
and  a  gold  watch.     \Yhen  I  had  deliberately  taken 


134-      THE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOR. 

in  every  item,  the  unutterable  calmness  of  this 
stranger,  thus  establishing  himself  in  our  room, 
came  home  to  me  most  forcibly,  and  clearing  my 
throat  I  coughed — a  clear  decided  cough  of  ex- 
postulation, to  draw  his  attention  to  the  enormity 
of  the  situation.  It  had  no  effect — he  must  be 
stone-deaf!  He  went  on  writing  as  indefatigably 
as  ever.  What  he  was  writing  was  evidently  a 
pleasant  theme,  possibly  a  love-letter,  for  he 
smiled  as  he  scribbled.  All  at  once  I  observed 
that  the  door  was  ajar.  Two  faces  were  peering 
in — a  strange  servant  in  a  yellow  turban,  with 
cruel,  greedy  eyes,  and  the  khan^amah  !  Their  gaze 
was  riveted  on  the  open  despaL;jh-box,  the  money, 
the  roll  of  notes,  and  the  Watch.  Presently  the 
traveller's  servant  stole  up  behind  his  master 
noiselessly,  and  seemed  to  hold  his  breath ;  he 
drew  a  long  knife  from  his  sleeve.  At  this 
moment  the  stranger  raised  his  eyes  and  looked 
at  me.  Oh,  what  a  sad,  strange  look !  a  look  of 
appeal.  The  next  instant  I  saw  the  flash  of  the 
knife — it  was  buried  in  his  back ;  he  fell  forward 


TEE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOB.       1 35 

over  his  letter  with  a  crcash  and  a  groan,  and  all 
was  darkness.  I  tried  to  scream,  but  I  could  not. 
My  tongue  seemed  paralj'zed.  I  covered  my  head 
up  in  the  clothes,  and  oh,  how  my  heart  beat! 
thump,  thump,  thump — surely  they  must  hear  it, 
and  discover  me.  Half  suffocated,  at  length  I 
ventured  to  peer  out  for  a  second.  All  was  still, 
black  darkness.  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen, 
but  much  to  be  heard — the  dragging  of  a  heavy 
body,  a  dead  body,  across  the  room ;  then,  after 
an  appreciable  pause,  the  sounds  of  digging  out- 
side the  bungalow.  Finally,  the  splashing  of 
water — some  one  washing  the  jioor.  When  I  awoke 
the  next  morning,  or  came  to  myself — for  I  believe 
I  had  fainted — daylight  was  demanding  admittance 
at  every  crevice  in  the  shutters;  night,  its  dark 
hours  and  its  horrors,  was  past.  The  torture,  the 
agony  of  fear,  that  had  held  me  captive,  had  now 
released  me,  and,  worn  out,  I  fell  fast  asleep.  It 
was  actually  nine  o'clock  when  I  opened  my  eyes. 
Julia  was  standing  over  me  and  shaking  me 
vigorously,  and  saying,  "Nellie,  NeUie,  wake;  I've 


136      TEE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOH. 

been  up  and  out  this  two  hours ;  I've  seen  the 
head  man  of  the  village." 

**  Have  you  ?  "  I  assented  sleepily. 

"Yes,  and  he  says  there  are  no  bullocks  to  be 
had  until  to-morrow ;  we  must  pass  another 
night  here." 

"  Never  !  "  I  almost  shrieked.  "  Never  !  Oh, 
Julia,  I've  had  such  a  night.  I've  seen  a 
murder !  "  And  straightway  1  commenced,  and 
told  her  of  my  awful  experiences.  *'  That 
khansamah  murdered  him.  He  is  buried  just 
outside  the  front  step,"  I  concluded  tearfully. 
"  Sooner  than  stay  here  another  night  I'll  walk 
to  Chanda." 

**  Ghosts  !  murders  !  walk  to  Chanda  !  "  she 
echoed  scornfully.  "Why,  you  silly  girl,  did  I 
not  sleep  here  in  this  very  room,  and  sleep  as 
sound  as  a  top  ?  It  was  all  the  pate  de  foie  gras. 
You  know  it  never  agrees  with  you." 

"I  know  nothing  about  pate  de  foie  gras,''  I 
answered  angrily;  "but  I  know  what  I  saw. 
Sooner  than    sleep   another    night    in   this  room 


TBE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOR.       I  37 

I'd  die.     I  might  as  well — for  such  another  night 
would  kill  me  !  " 

Bath,  breakfast,  and  Julia  brought  me  round 
to  a  certain  extent.  I  thought  better  of  tearing 
off  to  Chanda  alone  and  on  foot,  especially  as 
we  heard  (per  coolie)  that  our  respective  husbands 
would  be  with  us  the  next  morning — Christmas 
Day.  "We  spent  the  day  cooking,  exploring  the 
country,  and  writing  for  the  English  mail.  As 
night  fell,  I  became  more  and  more  nervous, 
and  less  amenable  to  Julia  and  Julia's  jokes.  I 
would  sleep  in  the  verandah  ;  either  there,  or  in 
the  compound.  In  the  bungalow  again — never. 
An  old  witch  of  a  native  woman,  who  was 
helping  Abdul  to  cook,  agreed  to  place  her  mat 
in  the  same  locality  as  my  mattress,  and  Julia 
Goodchild  valiantly  occupied  the  big  room  within, 
alone.  In  the  middle  of  the  night  I  and  my 
protector  were  awoke  by  the  most  piercing, 
frightful  shrieks.  We  lit  a  candle  and  ran  into 
the  bungalow,  and  found  Julia  lying  on  the  floor 
in  a  dead  faint.     She   did  not   come   round   for 


I  38       THE  DAK   BUNGALOW   AT  DAKOR. 

more  than  an  hour,  and  when  she  opened  her 
eyes  she  gazed  about  her  with  a  shudder  and 
displayed  symptoms  of  going  off  again,  so  I 
instantly  hunted  up  our  flask  and  administered 
some  raw  brandy,  and  presently  she  found  her 
tongue  and  attacked  the  old  native  woman  quite 
viciously. 

**  Tell  the  truth  about  this  place !  "  she  said 
fiercely.  **  What  is  it  that  is  here,  in  this 
room  ?  " 

**  Devils,"  was  the  prompt  and  laconic  reply. 

**  Nonsense  !  Murder  has  been  done  here ;  tell 
the  truth." 

"  How  I  knowing  ?  "  she  whined.  **  I  only  poor 
native  woman." 

"  An  English  sahib  was  murdered  here  seven 
years  ago ;  stabbed  and  dragged  out,  and  buried 
under  the  steps." 

"  Ah,  bah  !  ah,  bah  !  How  I  telling  ?  this  not 
my  country,"  she  wailed  most  piteously. 

*'  Tell  all  you  know,"  persisted  Julia.  **  You 
do  know  !     My  husband  is  coming  to-day ;  he  ia 


TEE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOR.      1 39 

a  police  officer.  You  bad  better  tell  me  tban 
bim." 

After  mucb  wbimpering  and  band-wringing,  we 
extracted  tbe  following  information  in  jerks  and 
quavers  : — 

Tbe  bungalow  bad  a  bad  name,  no  one  ever 
entered  it,  and  in  spite  of  tbe  wooden  sbutters 
tbere  were  lights  in  tbe  windows  every  nigbt  up 
to  twelve  o'clock.  One  day  (so  tbe  villagers  said), 
many  years  ago,  a  young  sabib  came  to  tbis 
bungalow  and  stayed  tbree  days.  He  was  alone. 
He  was  in  tbe  Forest  Department.  Tbe  last 
evening  be  sent  bis  borses  and  servants  on  to 
Cbanda,  and  said  be  would  follow  in  tbe  morning 
after  baving  some  sbooting,  be  and  bis  "  boy ;  " 
but  tbougb  bis  people  waited  two  weeks,  be 
never  appeared — was  never  seen  again.  Tbe 
kbansamab  declared  tbat  be  and  bis  servant  bad 
left  in  tbe  early  morning,  but  no  one  met  tbem. 
Tbe  kbansamab  became  suddenly  very  ricb ;  said 
he  had  found  a  treasure  ;  also,  be  sold  a  fine  gold 
walcb  in    Jubbulpore,  and    took    to    drink.      He 


I40       TEE  DAK   BU NO  ALOW  AT  DAKOB. 

had  a  bad  name,  and  the  bungalow  had  a  bad 
name.  No  one  would  stay  there  more  than  one 
night,  and  no  one  had  stayed  there  for  many 
years  till  we  came.  The  khansamah  lived  in  the 
cook-house;  he  was  always  drunk.  People  said 
there  were  devils  in  the  house,  and  no  one 
would  go  near  it  after  sundown.  This  was  all 
she  knew. 

"Poor  fellow,  he  was  so  good-looking!"  sighed 
Julia  when  we  were  alone.  **  Poor  fellow,  and  he 
was  murdered  and  buried  here  !  " 

"  So  I  told  you,"  I  replied,  "  and  you  would 
not  believe  me,  but  insisted  on  staying  to  see  for 
yourself." 

"  I  wish  I  had  not — oh,  I  wish  I  had  not !  I 
shall  never,  never  forget  last  night  as  long  as  I 
live." 

"  That  must  have  been  his  topee  and  tiflSn 
basket  that  we  saw  in  the  press,"  I  exclaimed. 
"  As  soon  as  your  husband  comes,  we  will  tell 
him  everything,  and  set  him  on  the  track  of  the 
murderers." 


THE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAK  OB.       I4I 

Breakfast  on  Christmas  morning  was  a  very 
doleful  meal;  our  nerves  were  completely 
shattered  by  our  recent  experiences,  and  we 
could  only  rouse  ourselves  up  to  offer  a  very 
melancholy  sort  of  welcome  to  our  two  husbands, 
when  they  cantered  briskly  into  the  compound. 
In  reply  to  their  eager  questions  as  to  the  cause 
of  our  lugubrious  appearance,  pale  faces,  and 
general  air  of  mourning,  we  favoured  them  with 
a  vivid  description  of  our  two  nights  in  the 
bungalow.  Of  course,  they  were  loudly,  rudely 
incredulous,  and,  of  course,  we  were  very  angry; 
vainly  we  re- stated  our  case,  and  displayed  the 
old  topee  and  tiffin  basket ;  they  merely  laughed 
still  more  heartily  and  talked  of  **  nightmare," 
and  gave  themselves  such  airs  of  offensive 
superiority,  that  Julia's  soul  flew  to  arms. 

"  Look  here,"  she  cried  passionately,  "  1 
laughed  at  Nellie  as  you  laugh  at  us.  We  will 
go  out  of  this  compound,  whilst  you  two  dig,  or 
get  people  to  dig,  below  the  front  verandah  and 
in  front  of  the  steps,  and  if  yon  don't  find  t]}0 


142       THE  DAK   BUNGALOW  AT  DAEOR. 

skeleton  of  a  murdered  man,  then  you  may  laugh 
at  us  for  ever." 

With  Julia  impulse  meant  action,  and  before  I 
could  say  three  words  I  was  out  of  the  compound, 
with  my  arm  wedged  under  hers;  we  went  and 
sat  on  a  little  stone  bridge  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  the  bungalow,  glum  and  silent  enough. 
What  a  Christmas  Day !  Half  an  hour's  delay 
was  as  much  as  Julia's  patience  could  brook. 
We  then  retraced  our  steps  and  discovered  what 
seemed  to  be  the  whole  village  in  the  dak 
bungalow  compound.  Frank  came  hurrying 
towards  us,  waving  us  frantically  away.  No 
need  for  questions ;  his  face  was  enough.  They 
had  found  it. 

•  *  •  •  • 

Frank  Goodchild  had  known  him — he  was  in 
his  own  department,  a  promising  and  most 
popular  young  fellow;  his  name  was  Gordon 
Forbes ;  he  had  been  missed  but  never  traced, 
and  there  was  a  report  that  he  had  been  gored 
and  killed  in  the  jungle   by  a  wild  buffalo.      In 


THE  DAK   BUNGALOW  AT  DAKOR,      1 43 

tlie  same  grave  was  found  the  battered  despatch- 
box,  by  which  the  skeleton  was  identified.  Mr. 
Goodchild  and  my  husband  re-interred  the  body 
under  a  tree,  and  read  the  Burial  Service  over 
it,  Nellie  and  I  and  all  the  village  patriarchs 
attending  as  mourners.  The  khansamah  was 
eagerly  searched  for — alas !  in  vain.  He  dis- 
appeared from  that  part  of  the  country,  and  was 
said  to  have  been  devoured  by  a  tiger  in  tho 
Jhanas  jungles;  but  this  is  too  good  to  be  true. 
We  left  the  hateful  bungalow  with  all  speed  that 
same  afternoon,  and  spent  the  remainder  of  tho 
Christmas  Day  at  Chanda;  it  was  the  least 
merry  Christmas  we  ever  remembered.  The 
Goodchilds  and  ourselves  have  subscribed  and 
placed  a  granite  cross,  with  his  name  and  the 
date  of  his  death,  over  Gordon  Forbes's  lonely 
grave,  and  the  news  of  the  discovery  of  the 
skeleton  was  duly  forwarded  to  the  proper 
authorities,  and  also  to  the  unfortunate  young 
man's  relations,  and  to  these  were  sent  tho 
despatch-box,  letters,  and  ring. 


144       TUE  DAK  BUNGALOW  AT  DAEOR. 

Mrs.  Duff  was  full  of  curiosity  concerning  our 
trip.  We  informed  her  that  we  spent  Christmas 
at  Chanda,  as  we  had  originally  intended,  with 
our  husbands,  that  they  had  provided  an  excellent 
dinner  of  black  buck  and  jungle  fowl,  that  the 
plum-pudding  surpassed  all  expectations :  but 
we  never  told  her  a  word  about  our  two  nights' 
halt  at  Dakor  bungalow. 


**THE  OTHER  MISS  BROWNED 

"  Here's  my  hand. 
And  mine,  with  my  heart  in't." 

The  Tempest. 

Tom  Galway  (of  the  Princess's  Own  Pea  Green 
Pioneers)  had  evidently  some  weighty  matter  on 
his  mind,  as  he  lounged  in  a  long  chair  in  his 
verandah,  nursing  a  veteran  fox-terrier,  and 
puffing  furiously  at  a  "  Trichy "  cheroot.  Per- 
haps Tom  was  endeavouring  to  accustom  himself 
to  his  new  honours  ?  His  step  was  in  that  day's 
Gazette,  and  for  the  last  four  hours  he  had  been 
entitled  to  write  "  captain  "  at  either  end  of  his 
signature.  He  was  a  broad-shouldered,  well  set- 
up young  man  of  eight-and-twenty,  with  sleepy- 
looking  grey  eyes,  closely-cropped  black  hair,  and 
a  luxuriant  moustache ;  his  countenance  w'as 
more  remarkable  for  placid  contentment  than  for 


146  "THE   OTHER   MISS    BROWNE*' 

brilliant  intelligence.  To  tell  the  honest  truth, 
Tom  was  not  particularly  sharp ;  he  had  only 
scraped  through  his  examinations  and  mastered 
the  drill-book  by  what  he  called  "  the  skin  of 
his  teetn,''  and  with  extraordinary  (and  to  him) 
exhaustive  mental  exertions.  His  best  friend 
never  thought  Tom  Galway  clever,  but  he  was 
sporting,  good-natured,  and  good-tempered.  He 
never  made  a  joke  at  any  one's  expense — possibly 
because  he  could  not — and  he  never  said  an  ill 
word  of  mortal ;  he  was  slow,  his  thoughts  moved 
languidly  and  took  some  time  to  grasp  a  subject ; 
his  blunders,  literary  and  social,  were  the  delight 
of  the  mess ;  but  he  was  a  reliable  officer,  a  keen 
sportsman,  and  "Old  Tom"  was  one  of  the  most 
popular  fellows  in  the  "  Princess's  Own  Pioneers." 
Tom  was  in  the  unfortunate  condition  common 
to  a  few  other  subalterns — Tom  was  impecu- 
nious ;  he  did  not  gamble,  bet,  or  drink ;  he  kept 
no  stud  beyond  a  gaunt  old  caster,  who  enjoyed 
the  appropriate  name  of  "  Barebones;  "  his  clothes 
were  latterly — tell  it  not  in  Gath — manufactured 


"TEE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNE.'*  I47 

in  his  own  verandah.  Where  the  money  went 
to  was  one  of  the  desperate  problems  that  fre- 
quently puzzled  poor  Tom ;  not  that  there  was 
so  much  to  go — two  hundred  and  fifty  rupees  a 
month.  Innocent  British  reader,  if  you  Hke  to 
do  a  nice  little  mental  sum,  a  rupee  is  one 
shilling  and  threepence.  Alas  !  alas  !  for  the  good 
old  days,  when  the  beloved  coin  was  worth  two 
shillings  ;  woe,  woe  to  those  who  have  to  remit 
money  home.  Luckily,  Tom  Galway  was  spared 
this  harrowing  experience.  Of  what  was  Tom 
thinking  so  earnestly?  Of  the  burning  currency 
question  ?  Of  his  debts  ?  Of  his  new  responsi- 
bilities? Whatever  his  thoughts  were,  they  sud- 
denly culminated  in  action,  for  he  cast  away  his 
cheroot,  flung  down  the  dog,  went  into  the  interior 
of  his  bungalow,  dragged  out  a  well-preserved 
leather  writing-case  and  sat  himself  down  before 
it.  At  this  moment  another  young  man,  riding 
a  lean  chestnut  pony,  and  dressed  in  cricket 
flannels  and  a  gaudy  striped  coat,  galloped  up 
under  the  porch,  as  if  he  was  being  hotly  pursued 


148  "THE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNE." 

by  a  pack  of  wolves.  Throwing  the  reins  to  a 
panting  syce,  he  shouted — 

"  Hullo,  Tom,  so  there  you  are !  I've  just 
come  from  the  mess.  I've  told  them  to  put  the 
champagne  in  ice  for  to-night." 

**  For  what  ?  "  asked  Tom,  with  a  vacant  look. 

"  Why,  man  alive,  you've  got  to  stand  it ! 
What  are  you  mooning  about  ?  Did  you  not  get 
your  company  to-day  ?  " 

"  Oh !  of  course ;  of  course,  to  be  sure," 
assented  Tom,  eagerly. 

"  What  are  you  about ;  aren't  you  coming  down 
to  rackets  ?  " 

"No;  it's  mail  day,"  protested  Tom  rather 
sheepishly. 

"Bosh!  Why,  you  know  you  never  write  a 
letter,  you  old  humbug." 

"  Well,  any  way,  I'm  going  to  write  one  now, 
60  clear." 

"  To  our  mutual  tailor  ?  Give  him  my  kind 
regards,  and  tell  him  that  he  will  be  paid  in  the 
coming  by-and-by,  and  meanwhile  to  send  you  a 
couple  of  new  suits." 


"TDK   OTHER   MISS  BROWNE"  1 49 

"I  don't  owe  him  a  penny,"  said  Tom,  biting 
the  end  of  his  pen.  '*  I've  cleared  Mm  off,  thank 
goodness." 

"Wish  I  could  say  the  same,"  said  his  comrade, 
hitching  himself  up  on  the  corner  of  the  table. 
"  Maybe  you  are  thinking  of  another  kind  of 
suit?  I  see  my  brilliant  wit  is  thrown  away 
on  you !  but  you've  heard  of  a  law  suit,  eh, 
and  of  a  love  suit  ?  He's  blushing,  I  declare — he 
can't  look  me  in  the  face.    By  Jove,  he's  in  love !  " 

"  Look  here,  Jack,"  said  Tom,  who  certainly 
had  become  a  shade  redder,  "  can  you  stop  your 
tomfoolery  for  once,  and  listen  to  me  rationally 
for  five  minutes  ?  I'm — ahem — I'm — thinking — of 
— getting  married  !  " 

At  this  announcement,  Jack  bounded  off  the 
table,  rushed  to  the  door,  and  placing  both  hands 
to  his  mouth,  gave  a  wild  view  halloa  that  made 
the  neighbouring  compounds  ring,  and  threw 
"Topper,"  the  terrier,  into  a  paroxysm  of  ex- 
citement. 

Having  thus   relieved  his   feelings,    he   turned 


I50  "THE    OTHER   HISS  BROWNE." 

quite  gravely  to  bis  friend,  drew  up  a  cliair, 
and  leaning  both  elbows  on  tbe  table,  said — 

**  Tell  us  all  about  it,  old  cbapi^ie,  but  break 
it  to  me  very  gently,  if  it's  one  of  our  Blazapore 
spins." 

"  No,  no ;  no  fear — she  is  at  home." 

"I  suppose  your  new-made  honours  have  put 
THIS  into  your  head  ?  "  said  Jack,  surveying  his 
chum  with  gaping  half- contemptuous  amaze- 
ment. 

**  No — it  has  been  in  my  head  this  long  time ; 
but,  you  see,  I  could  not  afford  to  marry." 

**  Has  she  no  coin  ?  " 

*'  Not  a  penny." 

"  Come  !  that's  bad — and  mind  you,  a  captain's 
pay  is  not  a  mine  of  wealth." 

**  She  is  not  extravagant — neither  am  I — we 
shall  do  as  well  as  our  neighbours." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  the  other,  dubiously;  "but 
who  is  she  ?  " 

*'  First  of  all,  promise  that  you  won't  go 
tearing  round  the  station  telling  every  one." 


"THE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNE."*  I51 

**  Am  I  a  cackling  old  woman  !  "  demanded  Jack, 
indignantly. 

"  Well,  you  remember  when  we  were  quartered  at 
Baymouth— you  recollect  the  two  Miss  Brownes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  I  do — aunt  and  niece  ;  aunt, 
rather  ancient,  voice  like  a  peacock,  smart  frocks, 
pots  of  money;  niece,  pretty,  and  of  course, 
penniless." 

"  It's  the  niece,"  said  Tom,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"  So  I  should  hope.  I  am  glad  to  find  that  I 
have  cultivated  your  taste  to  some  purpose.  I 
wish  she  had  a  few  thousands  and  I  would  give 
you  my  consent,  and  maybe,  a  wedding  present." 

"Your  consent  is  not  going  to  be  asked  for." 

"  And  how  long  has  this  been  going  on,  you 
sly  dog  ?     Are  you  engaged  to  her  ?  " 

"  No  such  luck.  I  could  not  well  invite  her 
to  share  a  subaltern's  pay.  She  is  not  married 
yet,  I  know,  and  I'm  going  to  write  to  her  this 
mail,  and  ask  her  to  be " 

"  Mrs.  Gal  way  !  Ilooroo,  hooray!  And  owner 
of  Bungalow  No.  25,  two  cane  chairs,  one   camp 


152  "THE   OTHER   MISS   BIWWNE.** 

table,  one  fox-terrier  dog,  aged,  ditto  bay  horse, 
deaf  and  blind " 

"  Shut  up,  will  you,  you  yo  ing  idiot  ?  "  said  his 
friend,  impatiently.  "  I  know  that  her  aunt  leads 
her  a  devil  of  a  life,  and  to  come  out  to  a  home 
of  her  own  would  be  a  merciful  release.  You 
see  she  is  companion,  ladies'  maid,  gooseberry, 
and  scapegoat.  Poor  girl,  she  has  had  hard 
lines." 

*'  I  remember  Miss  Brown,  Senior — she  was 
at  every  ball  and  tennis-party  in  the  place," 
observed  Jack  Murray,  thoughtfully.  "  The  niece 
was  always  kept  well  in  the  background.  I  was 
rather  interested  in  the  niece  myself,  but  her 
aunt  declared  she  hated  society  and  had  other 
engagements." 

"  Her  other  engagements  were  sitting  at  home, 
darning  stockings  or  crying  her  eyes  out,"  said 
Captain  Galway.  "  Her  aunt  is  a  Tartar,  if  ever 
there  was  one.  A  soured,  ill-natured,  hypocritical 
old  cat." 

*'  All  the  same  she  is  a  well-gilt  old  cat.     Has 


"TUE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNE."*  1 53 

heaps  of  coin.     I  wonder  if  she  will  give  her  niece 
a  dowry  ?  " 

'*  If  she  gives  her  her  passage  money  I  shall  be 
agreeably  surprised,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

"  Well,  now,  I  suppose  you  want  to  write  the 
letter,  and  I  won't  disturb  you,"  said  Jack  Murray, 
rising,  "  unless  I  can  be  of  any  assistance  ?    Eh  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you  " — very  grufHy. 

"  Mind  you  say  what  you  mean,  and  don't  make 
a  mull  of  the  whole  concern.  Ton  my  word,  I 
think  you  had  better  let  me  draft  you  a  copy." 

For  an  answer  his  comrade  took  up  a  volume  of 
the  Queen's  Regulations  and  shied  it  at  Jack,  who, 
ducking  his  head,  just  evaded  the  missile,  and, 
with  another  ear-splitting  screech,  mounted  his 
barrack  tat,  and  gleefully  decamped. 

•  •  *  •  • 

Jack  was  a  merry  subaltern,  whose  gaiety  never 
knew  a  cloud,  whose  face  was  never  overcast,  and 
who  found  existence  intensely  amusing,  thoroughly 
enjoyed  life,  and  the  pleasures,  excitements,  duties, 
and  diversions  that  it  brought  him. 


154  "TnE   OTHER   MISS   BliOWNE." 

It  was  no  easy  matter  to  Tom  Galway  to  indite 
any  letter — much  less  a  love-letter.  (His  departed 
friend  could  have  knocked  off  a  hillet-doux  in  less 
than  five  minutes.)  How  he  bit  the  end  of  his 
pen,  how  he  tore  up  sheet  after  sheet  of  the  best 
crested  regimental  notepaper,  how  he  wished  he 
had  taken  Jack  Murray's  offer,  I  will  not  linger 
to  relate.  In  the  end,  he  contrived  to  concoct 
and  finish  a  missive,  and  was  so  completely  ex- 
hausted and  done  up,  that  he  was  obliged  to 
relieve  his  flagging  faculties  with  a  stiff  whisky 
and  soda. 

"  A  letter  like  that  takes  it  out  of  a  fellow  fright- 
fully!" muttered  Tom,  mopping  his  forehead. 
**  However,  it's  done,  and  off  my  mind." 

He  was  a  person  of  slow  mental  evolution;  he 
had  been  deliberating  over  this  step  for  months, 
and  he  had  taken  it  at  last.  He  dressed,  carried 
the  letter  over  to  the  mess,  saw  it  placed  in  the 
post-bag  and  started  on  the  first  stage  of  its  long 
journey.  He  stood  and  looked  after  the  letter- 
corporal  with  an  unusually  solemn  face.     Would 


"TDE   OTHER   JUISS  BROWNED  155 

he  recall  the  epistle  if  he  could  ?  No,  no ;  ten 
thousand  times,  no.  Nevertheless,  between  the 
important  invitation  just  despatched  and  the  re- 
sponsibility of  being  actually  captain  of  F  company, 
our  hero  was  considerably  sobered,  and  that  night 
at  mess  his  silence  and  abstraction,  despite  several 
beakers  of  his  own  champagne,  was  the  subject  of 
unlimited  remark  and  chaff.  He  did  not  fire  up  at 
the  news  of  a  polo  scurry,  nor  join  a  tug-of-war 
with  one  of  the  punkah  ropes,  nor  even  jump  at 
the  proposal  to  put  a  buffalo  calf  into  Major  Pratt's 
bed !  [N.B. — Major  Pratt  was  dining  elsewhere. 
He  was  a  Uttle,  lean,  hungry-looking  man,  with  a 
sharp  nose  and  red  moustache,  adored  by  his 
regiment,  and  the  idol  of  the  fair  sex — according 
to  his  own  account.  A  less  partial  view  was  taken 
by  the  world,  but  is  not  that  generally  the  case  ? 
Men  who  had  a  good  opportunity  of  knowing  the 
major,  said  that  he  was  as  deep  as  a  draw-well ; 
that  he  shirked  his  work ;  that  he  funked  riding, 
and  that  he  was  a  regular  little  screw  !  The  fair 
Bex  said — but  no  matter  !  it  is  enough  for  me  to 


156  "THE   OTHER   MISS  DROWNED 

chronicle  that  they  did  not  accept  bim  at  his  own 
valuation.] 

Weeks  rolled  by,  and  then  one  happy,  happy 
day  the  post-office  peon,  with  bis  tri-coloured 
turban,  brought  Captain  Galway  a  telegram,  that 
had  come  all  the  way  from  England !  It  was  brief, 
to  the  point,  and  most  satisfactory,  and  said — 

**  Yes — letter  follows. — L.  Browne." 

Tom  showed  this  precious  document  to  Jack 
Murray  with  undisguised  triumph,  for  Jack  had 
been  dubious  of  the  answer,  and  when  his  chum 
had  talked,  in  foolishly  sanguine  moments,  of 
"  doing  up  the  garden  "  and  "  buying  a  piano, 
which  was  going  a  dead  bargain,"  Jack  had  thrown 
cold  water  on  these  designs,  and  said,  "I  would 
not  be  so  dead  sure,  that  she  will  come,  my 
Thomas !  It  strikes  me  that  you  are  counting 
your  chickens  before  they  are  hatched." 

Tom  never  argued  the  point,  but  frequently 
refreshed  his  hopes  by  contemplating  a  certain 
photograph  and  a  withered  bunch  of  forget-me- 
nots,  that  lay  hidden  in  the  recesses  of  his  battered 


*'TnE   OTHER   MISS   BROWNE;*  1 57 

old  desk,  and  said  to  himself,  "  She  will  come  right 
enough." 

Undeniably  men  are  vain  creatures. 

After  this  auspicious  telegram,  Jack  was  silenced. 
His  friend  was  magnanimous,  and  did  not  say,  "  I 
told  you  so,"  but  he  laboured  diligently  in  the 
garden,  he  bought  the  piano,  he  took  his  colonel's 
wife  into  his  confidence,  and  he  talked  so  inces- 
santly of  "  her  " — of  "  Lily  " — that  Jack  was 
seriously  thinking  of  dissolving  partnership  and 
moving  into  another  bungalow.  Of  course,  when 
it  was  noised  abroad  that  Tom  Galway — Tom 
Galway  !  who  did  not  know  "God  save  the  Queen" 
from  the  "  Dead  March  "  in  Saul — had  purchased 
a  piano,  and  that  the  instrument  was  actually  on 
view,  in  his  barn-like  abode,  there  was  no  need  for 
Tom  to  make  any  further  announcement  to  his 
brother  officers  or  the  station.  It  was  plain  that 
Tom  was  going  to  be  married !  Naturally  he  was 
the  legitimate  object  of  any  amount  of  chaff,  which 
chafif  he  bore  with  his  usual  phlegmatic  good 
humour  and  a  broad  grin  of  ridiculous  complacency. 


158  "THE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNED 

He  had  now  received  two  precious  letters  from 
Lily ;  she  announced  that  she  was  making  arrange- 
ments for  coming  out  with  some  friends  im- 
mediately, as  it  was  a  good  opportunity  that  might 
not  occur  again.  She  had  taken  her  passage  in 
the  P.  and  0.  Chiisan,  and  would  be  in  Bombay 
early  in  November. 

A  portion  of  this  was  imparted  to  Jack,  but  bits 
were  skipped  here  and  there,  in  a  highly  suspicious 
manner. 

"  I  suppose  she  says  nothing  of  the  aunt  ^  '* 
inquired  Mr.  Murray,  sarcastically. 

"  Not  a  word.     The  letters  are  short.** 

**  Short  and  sweet,  eh  ?  Well,  the  only  draw- 
back that  I  see  is  old  Miss  Browne !  She  will  be 
worse  than  a  mother-in-law." 

"Not  's\ith  the  seas  between  us,"  retorted  Tom 
emphatically. 

"She  might  come  out,"  suggested  Jack.  "By 
Jove  !  do  you  know  that  I  used  to  think  she  was 
rather  sweet  on  you  herself,  eh  ?  " 

**Bosh,"  said  Tom,  reddening.     The  same  idea 


*'TnE    OTHER    MISS   BROWNED  1  59 

had  once  occurred  to  his  slower  intelligence,  only 
to  be  angrily  repudiated.  "  She  might  be  my 
mother,  you  young  donkey."  All  the  same,  he 
had  vivid  recollections  of  when  he  would  fain  have 
sauntered  round  the  gardens  with  Lily — it  was  t'  e 
aunt,  who  had  held  him  in  agreeable  dalliance  ;  it 
was  she  who  picked  flowers  and  placed  them  in  his 
button-hole  with  her  own  white  fingers  and  a 
girlish  simper ;  it  was  she  who  asked  for  his  photo- 
graph, who  kept  him  a  prisoner  in  close  tete-a-tete 
at  tennis-parties  and  dances,  whilst  his  whole  mind 
was  on  the  rack  to  know  what  had  become  of  Lily. 
At  first  he  had  thought  Miss  Browne  a  harmless, 
vain,  loquacious  old  maid;  but  subsequently  he 
overheard  sharp,  bitter  speeches  to  her  niece ;  he 
had  seen  Lily's  tears,  her  constant  humiliations  ; 
had  contrasted  her  dowdy  old  dresses  with  her 
aunt's  brilliant  toilettes,  and  had  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  Miss  Browne  was  a  selfish,  scheming 
vixen,  and  that  he  could  not  endure  the  sight  of 
her.  As  time  went  on,  Bungalow  25  became  quite 
transformed,  thanks  to  Mrs.  Cornwall,  the  wife  of 


l6o  *'TnE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNEP 

the  colonel  of  the  regiment,  who  gave  not  only 
sympathy  and  useful  hints,  but  practical  assist- 
ance :  pretty  furniture  was  picked  up  and  covered 
with  new  cretonne,  curtains  were  hung  in  doorways, 
new  matting  was  laid  down,  pictures  were  disposed 
on  the  walls,  a  pony  cart,  side  saddle,  cook  and 
ayah,  were  figuratively  laid  in.  Miss  Browne  was 
to  be  received  by  Mrs.  Cornwall,  and  married  from 
her  house ;  in  the  monotonous  cantonment  life 
at  Blazapore,  the  arrival  of  Captain  Galway's 
pretty  young  bride  was  awaited  with  extraordinary 
interest. 

«  •  •  •  • 

Miss  Browne,  Senior  (Christian  name,  Lavinia), 
had  been  a  beauty  in  her  day,  and  still  possessed 
some  remains  of  her  former  good  looks ;  she  was 
now  upwards  of  forty,  but,  with  a  youthful  figure, 
well-cut  gowns,  and  smart  little  bonnets,  might 
be  taken  for  five-and-thirty — especially  in  a  ^  eil, 
or  with  her  back  to  the  light.  Many  people 
wondered  that  she  was  not  married,  and  no  one 
was  more  astonished  at  this  omission  than  Mis3 


"THE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNE."  l6r 

Browne  herself.  Of  course,  she  had  refused 
scores  of  offers — fifty-nine  altogether — and  had 
had  two  heart-hreaking  disappointments.  This 
she  imparted  to  her  friends,  naturally  in  the 
strictest  confidence.  She  also  informed  them 
that  nothing  would  induce  her  to  marry  now; 
her  affections  were  in  the  grave,  and  all  she  had 
to  live  for  was  her  niece — a  strange,  eccentric, 
impassive  girl,  who  detested  society.  Now,  Miss 
Browne  herself  was  ordered  "  cheerful  surround- 
ings "  by  her  medical  man,  and  to  be  a  great  deal 
in  the  open  air,  with  lively,  pleasant  associates, 
and  to  take  moderately  active  exercise;  as,  for 
instance,  tennis-playing  and  dancing,  and  to 
indulge  in  change  of  scene,  and  the  best  and 
soundest  Burgundy.  She  was  rather  partial  to 
the  military,  and  made  no  secret  of  her  taste. 
Her  solid-looking,  comfortable  detached  house 
was  always  open  to  the  ofi&cers  (unmarried)  of  the 
garrison ;  not  merely  for  miserable  little  afternoon 
teas,  but  good  substantial  luncheons  and  well- 
cooked  dinners.     At  these  Miss  Browne  presided 

M 


1 62  "TUE   OTHER   MISS   BROWNED 

in  ravishing  toilettes,  and  with  the  airs  of  a  belle 
of  twenty.  She  was  generally  supported  by  one 
or  two  mature  matrons,  but  her  niece  was  never 
present — to  tell  the  honest  truth,  she  was 
marshalling  the  dishes  in  the  back  hall,  or 
occupied  in  the  kitchen. 

One  autumn  morning  Miss  Browne  came  down 
to  breakfast,  unlocked  the  post-bag,  and  took  out 
the  letters.  She  was  not  in  a  genial  humour. 
It  was  a  raw  kind  of  day,  and  her  dressmaker's 
bill  had  been  a  disagreeable  surprise.  What  was 
this  thin  epistle,  an  Indian  letter  ? 

'*  Miss  Browne,  The  Grovel 

Her  face  became  rather  red;  then  she  tore  it 
open,  and  after  glancing  at  the  signature,  pro- 
ceeded to  devour  it.     It  ran  as  follows  i— 

"Dear  Miss  Browne, 

"I   wish   I   might    put    my    dear    Miss 
Browne,  but  I  hope  the  answer  to  this  letter  will 


"THE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNE."  1 63 

give  me  that  delightful  privilege"  (Tom  had  thought 
this  a  very  neat  and  effective  opening).  "  I  have 
not  seen  you  for  nearly  two  years,  hut  I  have 
heard  of  you  through  the  Covingtons,  and  that 
you  are  still  unmarried.  Absence  has  made  the 
heart  grow  fonder  in  my  case.  I  trust  it  has  been 
the  same  in  yours — at  least,  that  you  have  not 
forgotten  me,  and  those  jolly  days  we  spent 
together  the  year  before  last.  I  have  just  got 
my  company,  and  I  write  the  same  day  to  ask 
you  to  be  my  wife.  I  can  now  offer  you  a 
comfortable  home,  and  I  am  sure  you  would  like 
India.  If  you  could  come  out  this  cold  weather, 
and  marry  me  in  Bombay,  I  should  esteem  it  an 
honour." 

Thi"^  sentence  seemed  somewhat  cold  and 
commonplace  to  Tom,  so  he  added — 

"Darling  Miss  Browne,  you  knew  that  I  adored 
you,  but  dared  not  speak  sooner ;  if  you  love 
me,    Cwme   out   as    soon   as   ever   you    can,    and 


164  *'TEE    CTEER    MISS  BROWNE.'* 

make    Blazapore    a    paradiLe — For    yours    most 
faithfully, 

"Tom  Galway. 
"  P.S. — I  have  the  forget'me-nots  still." 

Miss  Browne  perused  this  effusion  with  a  very 
high  colour,  and  equally  mingled  portions  of 
emotion,  astonishment,  and  rapture !  Now  and 
then  she  paused  to  re-read  a  sentence,  as  if  she 
could  not  believe  her  eyes.  An  offer  of  marriage ! 
To  go  to  India  to  be  Mrs.  Tom  Galway !  Her 
brain  was  in  a  whirl.  What  an  unexpected 
summons !  What  would  the  Eobinsons  say,  and 
the  Fishers,  and  the  Smiths  ?  What  bliss  !  what 
triumph  !  Visions  of  a  superb  trousseau,  of  India, 
elephants,  palm  trees,  wedding-cake,  and  a  sea 
voyage,  all  flashed  through  her  mind.  Suddenly 
she  looked  over  at  her  pretty,  pale  niece,  who  was 
pouring  out  the  coffee,  and  said  rather  sharply — 

"Lily?" 

*'  Yes,  aunt  ? "  lifting  a  pair  of  lovely  brown 
eyes. 


"THE   OTHER   MISS   BBOWNE."  1 65 

"You  remember  an  officer  who  was  here  the 
summer  before  last ;  he  was  in  the  Pioneers,  and 
paid  me  a  great  deal  of  attention — Tom  Galway  ?" 

Lily  nodded;  she  had  now  become  extremely  red. 

"  I  have  just  had  a  letter  from  him." 

*'  A  letter  !  "  she  echoed  in  a  faint  voice. 

"Yes — containing  an  offer  of  marriage." 

"  For "    began    the    girl,    and    then    she 

stopped. 

"  For  me,  of  course,"  said  her  aunt,  suddenly 
standing  up  and  dusting  the  crumbs  off  her  apron. 
"  Who  else  do  you  suppose  ?  " 

Poor  Lily !  the  colour  sank  quickly  from  her 
cheeks,  she  was  now  as  white  as  the  table-cloth. 
Miserable  girl !  her  little  love  idyl  had  been  brief, 
uncertain,  and  uncomfortable — guiltily  snatched 
moments  of  conversation — secret  gifts  of  flowers — 
stealthy  promises  —  incoherent  farewells.  She 
liked  Tom  Galway,  good-looking,  good-tempered, 
stupid  Tom — her  one  hope  had  been  that  he  would 
return  and  claim  her  when  he  got  his  company. 
He   had   not    said   so — in    so   many    words — but 


1 66  "TEE   OTEER   MISS  BROWNE.*' 

somehow  it  was  understood,  and  when  they  parted 
she  had  given  him  a  little  bunch  of  forget-me-nots, 
and  he — he  had  kissed  her  hand !  but  then,  of 
course,  Tom  was  notoriously  stupid.  He  had 
certainly  paid  court  to  her  aunt ;  he  had  been 
obliged  to  walk  and  talk  with  her,  to  gain  a  footing 
in  the  Grove  at  all,  and  in  this  Tom  displayed 
unusual  craft.  Now  all  the  time  he  had  been  in 
earnest,  as  regarded  Aunt  Lavinia ! — for  she  was 
rich  and  he  was  poor — and  he  had  only  been 
amusing  himself  with  her.  Oh,  faithless — faithless 
— mercenary  Tom ! 

•'Well,  have  you  nothing  to  say?"  demanded 
Miss  Browne  rather  shrilly.  "  How  different 
you  are  to  other  girls !  Why  don't  you  come 
round  and  kiss  me,  and  congratulate  me,  eh  ?  " 

Lily  rose — certainly  Lily  was  a  stoic — and  came 
and  laid  a  marble  cheek  against  her  aunt's  highly 
artistic  skin. 

"I — I  —  I  —  hope  you  will  be  happy.  Aunt 
Lavinia,"  she  faltered. 

"I'm   sure  I  shall.     Captain  Galway  is   good- 


''THE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNED  1 67 

tempered,  handsome,  and  passionately  attached 
to  me.  You  may  make  your  mind  quite  easy 
about  my  future.  Why  do  you  look  so  white 
and  odd  ?  Is  there  one  drawback  ?  Come — speak 
out !  " 

"Don't  you — don't  you — think  he  is  rather — 
rather " 

'*  What  ?  "  she  snapped  explosively. 

**  Rather — young  ?  " 

**  Young !  Why  he  is  past  thirty,  nearly  my 
own  age."  (Oh,  come  !  Miss  Browne.)  "  Young ! 
Eubbish.  The  Queen  was  older  than  Prince 
Albert.  Well,  I  can't  stay  here  talking  all  day. 
I  must  send  off  a  telegram.  I  must  run  across 
and  tell  the  Smiths  and  Joneses,  and  call  in  at 
Miss  Tuck's  about  the  trousseau.  You  might  go 
round  and  look  up  that  woman  who  comes  out 
sewing  by  the  day.  By-the-by,  what's  to  be  done 
with  you?  Tom  never  thought  of  that — foolish 
fellow !  he  is  so  taken  up  with  me.  I'll  send  you 
to  board  in  some  respectable  quiet  family — or 
a  finishing  school — or  somewhere.'' 


1 63  "THE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNEr 

Then  Miss  Browne,  Senior,  set  about  her  prepa- 
rations with  inconceivable  promptitude,  and  de- 
spatched the  telegram  and  letters  which  threw 
Tom  Galway  into  such  a  transport  of  happiness. 

The  Chnsan  arrived  in  Bombay  two  days  before 
her  time,  and  "Miss  Browne"  was  among  the 
passengers;  her  toilettes  were  Parisian,  and  her 
airs  and  assumption  of  youth  were  more  ridiculous 
than  ever.  She  displayed  Tom's  photograph  in 
dead  secrecy  to  about  fifteen  different  ladies,  who 
marvelled  at  this  handsome  young  man's  infatu- 
ation, and  subsequently  nodded,  and  giggled  among 
themselves  and  said,  "Money." 

The  yearly  inspection  was  in  full  swing  at 
B'.azapore,  so  Tom  had  not  .he  smallest  chance 
of  getting  leave  to  meet  his  fiancee  at  Bombay. 
She  was  expected  to  arrive  in  three  days'  time, 
and  all  preparations  for  her  reception  were  nearly 
completed.  Tom  had  had  a  long  spell  at  musketry 
on  the  ranges,  and  was  resting  himself  in  his 
own  verandah  when  Jack  Murray  arrived  at  a 
gallop. 


"THE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNE."  1^9 

"  I  say,  Tom !  Look  alive  !  "  he  began  breath- 
lessly.    "  She's  come  !  " 

"  Who  ?  Who  has  come  ?  "  said  Tom,  jumping 
to  his  feet. 

"  Why,  she — Lily — Miss  Browne.  She  drove 
up  to  the  Cornwalls'  just  now — a  strange  lady, 
pretty  figure,  thick  white  gauze  veil.  So  hurry  up  ! 
Hurry  up ! " 

No  need  to  repeat  this  injunction ;  Tom  was 
already  in  his  own  apartment,  tearing  off  his 
dusty  uniform,  and  shouting  to  his  chokra  for 
his  boots,  his  best  suit,  and  a  clean  shirt.  It  was 
almost  dusk  when  he  arrived  at  his  colonel's 
bungalow  and  was  met  by  Mrs.  Cornwall  in  the 
verandah. 

*'  She  will  be  in  the  drawing-room  directly,"  she 
whispered  mysteriously.  "  She  has  had  a  cup  of 
tea,  and  is  taking  off  her  hat;  the  Chusan  came 
in  before  her  time." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  her,  Mrs.  Cornwall  ?  " 
asked  Tom  impulsively,  colouring  as  he  hiioke. 
"  Isn't  she  the  prettiest  girl  you  ever  saw  ?  " 


I/O  ''TEE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNE." 

Mrs.  Cornwall  coughed  nervously,  and  replied, 
"  Never  mind  all  that  now.  Go  into  the  drawing- 
room.  I  shall  not  intrude.  Mind,  ycu  are  to 
come  to  dinner." 

Tom  passed  onward  without  another  word.  The 
drawing-room  was  darkish,  but  he  made  out  a 
slim  white  figure,  that  rose  quickly  at  his  en- 
trance ;  ere  he  could  distinguish  more  she  was 
folded  in  his  arms. 

**  Oh,  Tom !  dear  Tom  !  "  she  exclaimed  rap- 
turously. 

What  voice  was  this?  He  drew  back  instinc- 
tively, and  met  Miss  Brown's  cold  grey  eyes  smiling 
up  into  his  face  ;  he  glanced  sharply  round  the 
room  and  faltered  out,  **  Where — where  is  she — 
where  is  Lily  ?  " 

"  Why,  dearest  ?  What  an  odd  question !  She 
is  at  home,  of  course,  at  Clifton." 

"Not — not — coming?"  he  stammered.  As  the 
awful  situation  assumed  a  mental  shape  his  very 
blood  seemed  turned  to  ice. 

"  No — certainly  not.     We  shall  be  far  happier 


"THE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNE''  171 

by  ourselves,  dear,  and  you  said  nothing  about 
her — never  named  her." 

"  Never  named  her  ? "  Was  he  going  stark 
staring  mad  ? 

"  By-and-by  we  ■will  have  her  out,  and  get  her 
married,  if  we  can  !  "  and  she  laughed  as  much  as 
to  say,  "  Easier  said  than  done  !  " 

It  was  dusk — the  expression  of  amazement, 
horror,  and  dismay  which  passed  over  Tom's  fea- 
tures during  this  remarkable  scene  were  com- 
pletely lost  on  Miss  Browne.  Happy  Miss 
Browne  ! 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  **  how  odd  you  are  !  But  you 
icere  always  rather  silent  and  undemonstrative. 
Are  you  not  glad  to  see  me  ?  Think  of  the  thou- 
sands of  miles  I  have  come  to  see  youJ"  And  as 
she  spoke  she  laid  her  head  confidingly  against  his 
shoulder. 

"  I — I — was  out  in  the  sun  to-day,  and  my  head 
feels  queer,"  he  said,  drawing  back. 

Poor  Tom  was  going  through  the  most  awful 
moment  of  his  life,  and  surely  an  unrivalled  expe- 


1/2  "THE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNE" 

vience.  But  Tom  was  a  gentleman,  and  could  not 
bring  himself  to  divulge  the  real  truth. 

**  You  must  be  tired,"  he  stammered  with  a 
desperate  effort.  "  I'll  see  you  again,  at  dinner." 
And  without  further  remark  he  walked  hastily  out 
of  the  room. 

"  Hullo  !  What's  this  ?  "  inquired  Jack  Murray, 
as  to  his  intense  amazement  he  discovered  his 
friend  sitting  in  his  bedroom,  before  his  dressing- 
table.  "  Back  already !  Why  are  you  not  sunning 
yourself  in  the  smiles  of  beauty  ?  " 

Then  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  friend's  face. 
It  was  ghastly  white.  And,  lo !  on  the  table 
before  him  were  arranged  a  revolver,  and  a  case 
of  razors  ! 

**  I'm  taking  my  choice,"  said  Tom  in  a  hoarse 
voice.     "  It  must  be  one  or  the  other." 

Jack  Murray  was  justly  alarmed  at  the  expres- 
sion of  his  eye,  but  did  not  lose  his  head  for  a 
second. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  coolly,  reaching  over 
and  pocketing  the  razors.     "  The  sun,  acting  on 


"TEE   OTHER   MISS  BliOWNE."  I  73 

confirmed  softening  of  the  brain?  or  have  you  had 
a  row  already  ?  " 

"  Eow  !  Listen  to  me,  Jack.  I  went  over  to  see 
Lily,  as  I  thought " 

"  Yes,  and  as  I  thought,"  echoed  Jack. 

"Well,  she  was  not  there;  but  the  aunt  was. 
There's  been  some  infernal  mistake,  and  she  has 
come  out  to  marry  me." 

When  Jack  Murray  heard  this  appalling  state- 
ment, he  stared  for  a  second,  and  then  threw  him- 
self on  his  friend's  camp  cot,  and  gave  vent  to  a 
succession  of  yells  of  laughter. 

"  Yes,"  said  his  comrade,  very  sternly,  "  play  to 
you,  and  death  to  me." 

After  another  violent  paroxysm.  Jack  sat  up, 
dried  his  ej^es  on  his  coat-cuffs,  and  said  quite 
seriously — 

**  You  are  in  a  tight  place  this  time,  and  no 
mistake.     What  on  earth  are  you  to  do  ?  " 

"  Shoot  myself  !  "  was  the  brief  reply. 

**  Rubbish  !     Stop  a  moment,  I  have  an  idea  !  " 

**  What  good  is  an  idea  P  "  said  Tom,  scornfully. 


174  "THE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNE." 

"  Promise  to  place  yourself  in  my  hands,  and 
I'll  guarantee  to  get  you  out  of  this  business 
alive ! " 

"  Nonsense!  the  woman  is  here  ;  cake,  trousseau, 
and  all  complete.  Lily,  of  course,  is  done  with 
me.  When  the  story  is  known  I  shall  he  the 
laughing-stock  of  India.  If  I  don't  marry  her 
she  will  bring  an  action,  as  sure  as  fate.  No,  no. 
My  idea  is,  a  touch  of  the  sun.  Grove,  the 
doctor,  is  a  good  chap.  He'll  say  it  was  that. 
I've  been  on  the  ranges  all  day — a  touch  of  the 
sun,  and  this,"  taking  up  the  revolver  as  he  con- 
cluded. 

"  Put  it  down,"  said  his  friend,  angrily.  **  Listen 
to  me.  We  must  go  over  there  to  dinner,  and  to- 
morrow you  shall  go  on  the  sick  list,  and  stay 
there.     All  I  want  is  time." 

Jack  dared  not  leave  his  friend  alone  in  his 
present  condition  (suicidal),  and  after  a  long  and 
exciting  altercation  he  prevailed  on  him  to  ac- 
company him  over  to  the  colonel's.  Tom  looked 
white,  haggard,  and  miserable ;   anything  but  the 


"TBE   OTHER   MISS  BROWNE:*  I  75 

impersonation  of  a  happy  lover.  He  sat  beside 
his  bride-elect,  nobly  representing  "the  death's- 
head  at  the  feast " — his  bride,  who  was  dressed  in 
a  marvellous  French  toilette  of  white  brocade, 
whose  ears,  throat,  and  fingers  glittered  with  dia- 
monds, and  who  was  in  exuberant  spirits.  The 
company  were  greatly  surprised  at  Tom  Galway's 
idea  of  "  a  pretty  girl  of  nineteen,''  but  politely 
dissembled  their  amazement.  Possibly  Tom  was 
more  worldly  wise  than  they  had  supposed.  "  The 
old  girl " — such  was  their  profane  definition — had 
evidently  lots  of  money ;  but  Tom  was  a  deadly 
failure  as  a  lover ;  however,  if  Miss  Browne  was 
satisfied,  there  was  no  more  to  be  said ! 

After  dinner  there  was  a  little  music.  Tom  sat 
beside  his  fiancee  on  a  conspicuous  sofa,  and 
looked  as  if  he  was  awaiting  execution,  or  was 
thinking  of  all  his  dead  relations.  Jack  played 
the  banjo,  and  sang,  "Mary  had  a  Little  Lamb," 
and  various  other  silly  songs,  and  presently  the 
guests  went  away.  Mrs.  Cornwall  thoughtfully 
manoeuvred   so   as   to   leave   the   lovers   to   mako 


176  "TUE   OTHER    MISS  BROWNE.'* 

their  adieux  alone.  Unhappy  Tom!  He  walked 
abruptly  over  to  "  the  wrong  Miss  Browne,"  held 
out  a  limp  hand,  and  said  good  night,  whereupon 
she  rose,  and  looked  as  if  she  was  going  to  fall  on 
his  neck,  and  he  turned  precipitately  and  fled. 

The  next  day  Tom  was  in  high  fever — in  real 
earnest.  A  touch  of  the  sun  on  the  ranges.  His 
head  was  shaved,  and  an  hospital  nurse  procured. 
Of  course  Miss  Browne  was  tenderly  anxious,  and 
very  much  grieved  and  concerned,  but  she  saw  no 
reason  to  sit  in  sackcloth  and  ashes.  She  had 
seen  other  specimens  of  the  officers  of  the  Pioneers, 
and  began  to  think  she  was  rather  throwing  her- 
self away  upon  Tom  Galway  !  She  had  met  Major 
Pratt  at  a  dinner-party  at  the  general's — quite  a 
little  impromptu  affair — and  he  had  noted  the  new 
arrival  with  interest.  Her  income  (trebled)  had 
been  casually  imparted  to  him  by  Jack  Murray 
as  a  profound  secret.  Three  thousand  a  year ! 
What  luck  f^r  Tom  Galway !  If  he  had  only  had 
such  a  ch'ince — and  the  money  was  undoubtedly 
there,  for  she  talked  intelhgently  of  funds,  shares, 


"THE   OTUER   MISS  BROWNE."  I  77 

and  mortgages.  Her  diamonds  were  valuable, 
bar  dresses  costly,  Sbe  was  not  balf  bad-looking 
eitber.  He  affected  deep  sympathy  for  her  and 
Tom.  "Lucky  Tom!"  be  exclaimed;  "what 
envy,  hatred,  and  malice  he  had  stirred  up  in 
Blazapore !  "  He  sat  close  to  her,  and  adminis- 
tered neat  little  speeches  and  sugared  compli- 
ments, and  entreated  her  to  look  out  for  a  wife 
for  him,  and  when  she  went  away  he  squeezed  her 
hand.  The  next  day  he  called,  and  the  next  day 
he  called  and  brought  a  bouquet,  and  the  next 
day  he  called  and  brought  a  book,  and  the  follow- 
ing day  a  tiger-skin.  He  damned  Tom  Galway 
with  the  faintest  praise.  "  He  was  good-looking. 
Yes !  but — now  she  must  not  fly  at  him — heavy, 
g  od-natured,  but  densely  stupid.  Eather  a  butt, 
you  know,  and  indeed  only  for  him  (Major  Pratt) 
would  have  got  into  one  or  two  very  nasty 
scrapes."  The  major  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
marry  Miss  Browne,  and  was  calmly  confident  of 
his  ultimate  success.  Tom  Galway  was  hors  de 
combat,  and  all  is  fair  in  love  and  war,  and  in  the 


r'78  "TEE    OTHER    MISS   BROWNE.** 

end  it  came  to  pass  that  Major  Pratt  prevailed 
and  carried  off  the  prize !  The  little  Miss  Browne 
Had  seen  of  Tom  had  not  impressed  her  favour- 
ably ;  his  shaven  head,  long  bony  hands,  shabby 
clothes,  and  gaunt  appearance  afforded  a  painful 
contrast  to  the  spruce,  agreeable  little  major. 
Moreover,  he  was  a  field  officer  and  not  a  junior 
captain,  and  a  far  more  suitable  match  in  every 
respect.  In  an  incredibly  short  time  Jack  Mur- 
ray's anticipations  were  realized.  A  few  honeyed 
speeches,  a  few  drives  with  the  major  in  Jack's 
dog-cart,  a  few  bouquets  and  cheap  but  judicious 
presents,  and  Miss  Browne  had  exercised  her  sex's 
privilege  and  changed  her  mind !  She  wrote  a 
long  letter  of  apology  to  Tom,  deploring  her  own 
cruelty  and  his  broken  heart,  praying  that  time 
would  alleviate  his  misery,  and  pleading,  as  ex- 
tenuating circumstances,  Major  Pratt's  irresistible 
fascinations  and  her  woman's  weakness.  That 
same  evening  she  and  the  major  ran  away  to- 
gether. No  one  gave  chase,  —  and  they  were 
ultimately  married  by  special  licence  in  Madras. 


"  THE  'OTHER    MISS    BROWNE."  1 79 

Jack  lost  no  time  in  bearing  the  great  news  to 
his  friend.  All  Blazapore  was  quivering  with  the 
shock.  That  mercenary  little  wretch  the  major 
had  carried  off  Tom  Galway's  heiress.  Unlucky 
Tom! 

"It's  all  right,  Tom;  here's  your  release," 
holding  up  the  letter  that  cried  "  Peccavi."  It 
had  been  consigned  to  Jack  as  a  matter  of  course, 
he  being  the  major's  chief  adviser  and  confidant. 
"She's  in  the  regiment.  I  could  no^  help  that; 
we  had  to  sacrifice  some  one,  and  the  major 
deserved  it." 

"Oh,  Jack,"  said  his  friend,  wringing  his  hand 
till  the  tears  stood  in  Jack's  eyes,  "  you  have  saved 
my  reason,  and  my  life." 

"  Rubbish  !  If  you  had  allowed  nie  to  draft  the 
first  letter  there  would  have  been  none  of  this 
bother.  Served  you  jolly  well  right  for  addressing 
it  to  Miss  Browne." 

"  She  might  have  known,"  stammered  Tom. 
**  She  could  not  have  thought  that  I  meant  her." 

"  There's  no  saying.     No  fool  like  an  old  one. 


l8o  **  TEE    OTHER    MISS   BROWNED 

You  wrote  again  last  mail,  did  you  not  ?  Wrote  to 
the  right  one !  I'll  take  good  care  to  see  you 
turned  off  myself  this  time.  In  a  couple  of 
months  your  hair  will  have  grown,  and  you'll  be 
fit  to  be  seen,  and  then  you  can  go  down  to  Bom- 
bay and  marry  the  other  Miss  Browne,** 
And  be  did. 


«/F  YOU  SEE  HER  FACE." 

**  I  heard  a  voice  across  the  press, 
Of  oue  who  called  in  vain." 

Barrack  Room  Ballads. 

Daniel  Gregson,  Esq.,  B.S.C.,  political  agent 
to  the  Eajah  of  Oonomore  (a  child  of  seven 
years  of  age),  and  Percy  Goring,  his  junior  assis- 
tant, were  travelling  from  their  own  state  to 
attend  the  great  Delhi  durbar.  Mr.  Gregson 
was  a  civilian  of  twenty- five  years'  standing, 
short  of  neck,  short  of  stature,  and  short  of 
temper.  His  red  face,  pale  prominent  eyes,  and 
fierce  bushy  brows  had  gained  for  him  the  nick- 
name of  "  The  Prawn ;  "  but  he  was  also  known 
as  a  marvellously  clever  financier,  ambitious, 
shrewd,  and  prompt  in  action ;  and  by  those 
who  were  under  him,  he  was  less  loved  than 
feared.     Young  Goring  was  just  twenty-six,   and 


1 82  "IF   YOU  SEE  EER   FACE.'* 

much  more  eager  to  discuss  good  shooting,  or  a 
good  dance,  than  the  assessment  of  land,  the 
opium  trade,  or  even  acting  allowances  ! 

The  pair  journeyed  with  due  ceremony  on  the 
native  state  line,  and  in  the  little  Eajah's  own 
gilt  and  royal  carriage.  He  was  laid  up  in  the 
palace  with  chicken-pock,  and  had  wept  sorely 
hecause  he  had  been  unable  to  accompany  his 
guide,  philosopher,  and  friend  to  the  grand 
"  Tamasha,"  to  wear  his  new  velvet  coat,  and 
all  his  jewels,  and  to  hear  the  guns,  that  would 
thunder  in  his  honour.  Child  as  he  was,  he  was 
already  keenly  sensitive  respecting  his  salute ! 

Meanwhile  the  agent  and  his  subordinate  got 
on  capitally  without  him,  travelling  at  the 
leisurely  rate  of  ten  miles  an  hour,  that  fine 
November  afternoon,  surrounded  with  tiffin- 
baskets,  cigarettes,  ice-boxes,  and  other  luxurious 
accompaniments.  About  four  o'clock  the  traiia 
came  to  a  sudden  standstill — there  was  no  station 
to  account  for  this,  merely  a  country  road,  a 
white   gate,  and   a  mud  hut.    The  halt  resolved 


*'IF   YOU  SEE  BER  FACE:*  1 83 

itseL  into  a  full  step ;  Mr.  Gregson  thrust  his 
red  face  out  of  the  window,  and  angrily  inquired 
the  reason  of  the  delay. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  Eurasian 
guard,  "there  has  been  a  break  on  the  line — 
bridge  gone — and  we  can't  get  forward  nohow." 

Mr.  Gregson  glanced  out  on  the  prospect — the 
dusty  cactus  hedge,  the  white  telegraph  posts,  the 
expanse  of  brownish  grass,  black  goats,  and  jungle. 

"Any  village,  any  dak  bungalow?"  demanded 
the  political  agent,  who  migbt  have  known  better 
than  to  ask. 

"  I'm  afraid  not,  your  honour.  If  your  honour 
will  wait  here,  we  will  send  a  messenger  to  the 
next  station  on  foot,  and  tell  them  to  telegraph 
for  anotlier  train  from  the  junction.  This  will 
arrive  at  the  other  side  of  the  break,  and  take 
you  on  about  twelve  o'clock  to-morrow." 

"  And  meanwhile  we  are  to  sit  here ! "  cried 
Mr.  Gregson,  indignantly.  "  A  pretty  state  of 
affairs  !  I'll  send  a  memo  to  the  railway  engineer 
that    will    astonish    him,"    he    said,   turning    to 


I  84  *'IF   YOU  SEE  II ER   FACE." 

Goring.  "  It's  four  now,  and  we  shall  be  hero 
till  twelve  o'clock  to-morrow,  if  we  don't  mind. 
"We  shall  be  late  for  the  durbar,  and  I  shall 
have  to  wire,  *  unavoidably  absent.'  " 

"I  wonder  if  there  is  any  sport  to  be  had?" 
said  Goring,  descending  from  the  carriage,  and 
stretching  his  long  legs.  "  Any  shooting,  any 
black  buck?"  looking  at  the  guard  interroga- 
tively. 

*'  Ah,  that  reminds  me  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Greg- 
son.  '*  The  Eajah  has  a  hunting  box  some- 
where in  these  parts — Kori ;  we  can  go  there  for 
the  night." 

"Yes,  your  honour,"  assented  a  listener,  with 
profound  respect ;  "  but  it  is  four  koss  from  here 
— a  *  Kutcha '  road — and  a  very  poor  part  of  the 
state." 

"I  vote  we  stop  here,"  said  Goring.  "We  can 
shoot  a  bit,  and  come  back  and  dine,  and  sleep 
in  the  train.  We  shall  be  all  right  and  jolly ; 
twice  as  comfortable  as  in  some  tumble-down  old 
summer-house." 


"IF   TOU  SEE  DER   FACE."  1 85 

**  I  shall  go  to  Kori,  at  any  rate,"  rejoined  his 
superior  officer,  who  resented  opposition.  "The 
place  is  kept  up,  and  I've  never  seen  it.  This 
will  be  a  capital  opportunity  to  inspect  it." 

"But  it's  four  koss  away;  and  how  are  we 
to  get  our  baggage,  and  bedding,  and  grub 
over  ?  " 

"  Coolies,"  was  the  laconic  rejoinder.  **  Get 
them  ready  to  start  at  once  " — to  his  head  servant, 
with  an  imperious  wave  of  his  hand.    , 

*'  There  is  no  way  of  transjDort  for  your 
majesty,"  said  his  obsequious  bearer  with  a  deep 
salaam.  **  No  ponies,  not  even  an  ekka — unless 
the  '  Protector  of  the  Poor '  would  stoop  to  a 
country  cart  ? "  (Which  same  is  a  long  rude 
open  basket,  between  two  round  wooden  wheels, 
and  drawn  by  a  pair  of  bullocks.) 

**  I  really  think  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to 
move,"  urged  Goring,  as  he  cast  a  greedy  eye 
in  the  direction  of  a  promising  snipe  jheel.  "  It 
will  be  an  awful  fag,  and  you  know  you  hate 
walking !  " 


lS6  "JF   YOU  SEE  EER   FACE.'* 

"  You  can  please  yourself,  and  stay  here,"  said 
Mr.  Gregson,  with  immense  dignity,  who,  if  he 
hated  walking,  liked  his  own  way. 

As  the  whole  suite  (not  to  mention  the  commis- 
sariat) were  bound  to  accompany  him,  Goring  was 
compelled  to  submit ;  he  dared  not  run  counter  to 
his  arbitrary  companion,  who,  rejecting  with  scorn 
the  lowly  vehicle  that  had  been  suggested,  set 
out  for  Kori  on  foot,  whither  a  long  string  of 
coolies  had  already  preceded  him.  The  sandy 
country  road  wound  over  a  barren,  melancholy- 
looking  tract,  diversified  with  scanty  pasture  and 
marshy  patches  (or  jheels),  pools  of  water,  tall 
reeds,  and  brown  grasses.  It  was  dotted  with 
droves  of  lean  cattle,  paddy  birds,  milk-white 
herons,  and  cranes — especially  the  tall  sirius 
family,  who  danced  to  one  another  in  a  stately, 
not  to  say  solemn,  fashion. 

Truly  a  bleak,  desolate-looking  region,  and, 
save  one  or  two  miserable  huts  and  some  thorn 
bushes,  there  was  no  sign  of  tree  or  human 
habitation.     At   last   they   came    in    sight    of    i* 


"IF   YOU  SEE  HER   FACE.'*  1 8/ 

wretched  village — the  once  prosperous  hanger-on 
of  the  now  deserted  hunting  palace— that  showed 
its  delicate  stone  pinnacles  behind  a  high  wall; 
apparently  it  stood  in  an  enclosure  of  vast  extent, 
an  enclosure  that  must  have  cost  lakhs  of  rupees. 
Two  sahibs  were  naturally  an  extraordinary  sight 
in  this  out-of-the-way  district ;  the  fame  and 
name  of  Mr.  Gregson,  a  Burra-Burra  sahib,  had 
been  spread  before  him  by  the  coolies,  therefore 
beggars  and  petitioners  swarmed  eagerly  round 
this  great  and  all-powerful  personage. 

Mr.  Gregson  liked  to  feel  his  own  importance 
at  a  durbar,  or  an  official  dinner,  but  it  was  quite 
another  matter  to  have  it  thrust  upon  him  by  a 
gang  of  clamouring  paupers — the  maimed,  the 
halt,  the  blind — crying  out  against  taxation, 
imploring  alms,  and  mercy.  He  was  a  hard 
man,  with  a  quick,  impatient  temper.  An  aged 
blind  beldame  got  in  his  way,  and  he  struck  her 
savagely  with  his  stick.  She  shrank  back  with  a 
sharp  cry,  and  Goring,  who  was  ever  known  as  "  a 
sahib  with  a  soft  heart,"  spoke  to  her  and  gavo 


1 88  "IF   YOU  SEE  EEB   FACE."* 

her  a  rupee — a  real  rupee;  it  was  years  since 
she  had  felt  one  ! 

"Although  she  is  blind,  sahib,  beware  of  her," 
said  an  officious  youth,  with  his  hair  in  a  top- 
knot,    "  She  has  the  evil  eye  !  " 

"  Peace,  dog !  "  she  screamed ;  then  to  Goring, 
'*  I  am  a  lone  old  woman ;  my  kindred  are  dead — 
I  have  lived  too  long.  I  remember  the  former 
days — rich  days ;  but  bad  days.  Sahib,  if  you 
would  be  wise,  go  not  to  the  palace  Khana." 

Goring  was  moving  on  when  the  hag  hastily 
clutched  him  by  the  sleeve,  and  added  in  a  rasping 
whisper — 

''  If  you  see  her  face — you  die  !  " 

"  She  is  mad,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he 
hastened  to  join  Mr.  Gregson,  who  had  arrived 
at  the  great  iron-studded  gates  in  a  state  of 
crimson  fury. 

*'  You  say  we  have  land — true !  "  shouted  a 
haggard,  wild-eyed  ryot;  "but  what  is  land  with- 
out crops  ?  What  is  a  remission  of  five  per  cent, 
to  wretches  like  us  ?     It  is  but  as  a  carraway  seed 


**1F   YOU  SEE  EEIi   FACE."  1 89 

in  a  camel's  mouth!  The  -wild  beasts  take  our 
cattle  and  destroy  our  grain,  and  yet  we  must  work 
and  pay  you,  and  starve  !  Would  that  the  Eajah 
was  a  man  grown  !     Would  that  you  were  dead  ! " 

Mr.  Gregson  hurried  inside,  and  banged  the 
great  gate  violently  in  the  face  of  the  importunate 
crowd. 

**  It  is  a  very  poor  district,  and  much  too 
heavily  assessed,"  said  Goring  to  himself.  "There 
is  not  even  a  pony  in  the  place.  The  very 
Bunnia  is  in  rags;  the  deer  eat  the  crops, 
such  as  they  are,  since  the  deer  are  preserved, 
and  there  is  no  one  now  to  shoot  them.  It  ia 
abominable ! " 

The  palace  was  a  pretty,  light  stone  building, 
two  stories  in  height,  with  a  tower  at  either  end, 
and  a  double  verandah  all  the  way  round.  In 
front  of  it  a  large  space  was  paved  with  blocks 
of  white  marble,  which  ran  the  whole  length  of 
the  building,  and  it  was  surrounded  by  the  most 
exquisite  gardens,  kept  up  in  perfect  order — doubt- 
less   by    the    taxes    wrung    from    the    wretched 


I90  "IF   YOU  SEE  UER    FACE.** 

creatures  outside  its  gates — a  garden  that  was 
never  entered  by  its  proprietor  or  enjoyed  by  any 
one  from  year's  end  to  year's  end,  save  the 
mallee's  children  and  the  monkeys.  The  monkeys 
ate  the  fruit,  the  roses  and  lilies  bloomed  unseen, 
the  fountains  dripped  unheeded  ;  it  was  a  paradise 
for  the  doves  and  squirrels,  like  a  garden  in  a 
fairy  tale. 

The  chokedar  and  head  mallee  (he  was  a  rich 
man)  received  their  great  guest  with  every  ex- 
pression of  humble  delight.  Dinner  was  prepared 
with  much  bustle  in  the  hall  of  audience,  whilst 
Mr.  Gregson  and  his  junior  explored.  There 
were  long  shady  walks  paved  with  white  marble, 
immense  bushes  of  heliotrope  and  myrtle,  delicate 
palms,  fine  mango  trees,  peach  trees,  and  orange 
trees.  It  was  truly  an  oasis  in  the  desert  when 
one  contrasted  it  with  the  bare,  desolate,  barren 
country  that  lay  outside  its  walls. 

"  I  shall  bring  the  little  chap  here,"  said  Mr. 
Gregson,  pompously.  "  We  will  have  a  camp  here 
at  Christmas."     And  then  he  strolled  back  to  the 


*'IF   YOU  SEE   TIER   FACE.**  ICjl 

palace,  and  made  an  excellent  dinner  of  roast 
turkey,  and  asparagus,  and  champagne. 

After  this  repast  he  got  out  his  despatch-box 
and  his  cigarette-case,  and  set  about  writing  an 
official,  whilst  Goring  took  a  chair,  and  adjourned 
to  the  marble  pavement  outside  the  palace. 

It  was  an  exquisite  night ;  a  low  moon  was  peer- 
ing over  the  wall — the  air  was  heavy  with  the  scent 
of  syringa  and  orange  blossoms ;  there  was  not  a 
sound,  not  a  voice  to  be  heard,  not  a  soul  in  sight, 
save  Mr.  Gregson,  who,  illuminated  by  two  wax 
candles,  bent  eagerly  over  his  pen,  as  he  sat  in 
the  open  hall  of  audience. 

Goring,  as  he  smoked,  thought  of  many  things ; 
of  the  half-famished  villagers ;  of  the  splendid 
shooting  that  was  going  to  waste ;  of  the  grand 
bag  he  could  make,  and  would  make,  at  Christmas. 
Then  he  began  sleepily  to  recall  some  stories — 
half-told  stories — about  this  very  place  ;  tales  of 
hideous  atrocities,  and  crimes  that  had  been  done 
here,  in  the  days  of  the  Tiger  Rajah,  the  present 
ruler's  grandfather.     He  was  gradually  dozing  off, 


1 02  "IF   TOU  SEE  HER   FACE:* 

when  he  was  aroused  by  the  sounds  of  distant  tom- 
toms, playing  with  extravagant  spirit.  The  drum- 
ming came  slowly  nearer  and  nearer;  it  actually 
seemed  to  be  in  the  garden — louder  and  louder — 
with  a  whispered  murmuring  and  low  applause,  and 
as  it  were  the  footsteps  of  a  great  multitude.  But 
there  was  nothing  whatever  to  be  seen,  and  it  was 
as  light  as  day.  He  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair, 
and  gazed  behind  him ;  no !  nothing  to  be  seen 
but  his  senior  steadily  covering  sheets  of  foolscap. 
He  turned  his  head,  and  was  aware  of  an  unex- 
pected sight — as  startling  as  it  was  uncanny  !  Two 
twinkling  little  brown  feet,  dancing  before  him  on 
the  marble  pavement !  exquisite  feet,  that  seemed 
scarcely  to  touch  the  ground,  and  that  kept  perfect 
time  to  the  inspiriting  sounds  of  the  tom-toms ;  they 
were  decked  with  massive  golden  anklets,  which 
tinkled  as  they  moved,  and  above  them  waved  a 
few  inches  of  the  heavy  yellow  gold-embroidered 
skirt  of  the  dancing-girl.  No  more  was  visible. 
Round  and  round  the  fairy  feet  flitted,  in  a  very 
poetry   of   motion;    faster    and  faster  played  the 


"IF   TOU  SEE  HER   FACE."  1 93 

tom-toms.  Such  dancing,  such  nimble  feet,  it  had 
never  been  young  Goring's  lot  to  behold  1  Yes — 
but  where  was  the  rest  of  the  body  ? 

As  he  gazed  in  half-stupefied  amazement,  he 
suddenly  recalled  the  old  hag's  warning,  with  an 
unpleasant  thrill — 

**  If  you  see  her  face — you  die  ! " 

At  this  instant  there  was  a  scraping  sound,  of 
the  pushing  back  of  a  chair,  of  slow  footsteps  on 
the  marble,  of  a  loud  cry,  and  a  heavy  fall. 

Goring  jumped  up,  and  beheld  Mr.  Gregson 
lying  prone  on  his  face.  He  rushed  to  his  assist- 
ance, and  raised  him  with  considerable  difificulty. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  with  an  expression  of  unutter- 
able horror.  He  gave  one  or  two  shuddering 
gasps,  his  head  drooped  forward  on  his  breast, 
and  he  expired. 

Goring  looked  round  apprehensively.  The  feet 
had  disappeared ;  the  tom-toms  had  ceased. 

He  shouted  for  help,  and  immediately  a  vas| 
crowd  of  dismayed  retainers  assembled  around 
him,  and  Babel  ensued. 

o 


1 94  "IF   YOU  SEE  HER   FACE." 

"  The  Burra  sahib  dead  !  Well,  wdl,  it  was 
ever  an  evil  place.  Ah,  bah  !  Ah,  bah  !  It  was 
the  nautch-girl,  without  doubt." 

They  further  informed  Goring  that  the  old 
Eajah  had  once  tortured  a  dancing-girl  on  that 
very  spot,  and  inhumanly  disfigured  her  face. 
More  than  one  had  seen  her  since,  and  perished 
thus. 

That  morning,  at  sunrise,  the  dead  body  of  Mr, 
Gregson  was  placed  in  a  native  cart,  similar  to  the 
one  he  had  so  scornfully  rejected,  and  taken  by 
slow  stages  to  the  nearest  station  and  back  to  the 
city,  accompanied  by  Goring. 

The  doctors,  European  and  native,  declared 
with  one  consent  that  Mr.  Gregson  had  died  in 
a  fit — an  apoplectic  seizure. 

Goring — wise  man — said  nothing. 


THE  FORMER  PASSENGERS. 

•*  Who  is  whispering  and  calling  through  the  rain  ? 
Far  above  the  tempest  crashing, 
And  the  torreut's  ceaseless  dashing, 
I  hear  a  weary  calling,  aa  of  pain." 

"  If  any  one  can  help  you,  it  will  be  Captain 
Blane." 

This  sentence  was  uttered  by  a  smart  young 
clerk,  in  a  shipping  office  in  Eangoon,  who,  clothed 
in  cool  white  drill,  leant  his  elbows  confidentially 
on  the  desk,  and  concluded  his  speech  with  a 
reassuring  nod. 

I  was  en  route  from  Upper  Burmah  to  Singa- 
pore, in  order  to  attend  my  sister's  wedding.  Our 
flat  river-boat  was  late,  and  when  I  presented 
myself  at  the  booking-office  of  the  P.  and  0.,  I 
found  to  my  dismay  that  the  steamer  for  the 
Straits  had  sailed  at  dawn,  and  that  tLero  would 


196  TEE  FORMER   PASSENGERS. 

not  be  another  for  a  -week !  I  was  therefore  bound 
to  miss  the  wedding,  and  waste  my  precious  leave 
in  Eangoon,  thanks  to  the  leisurely  old  tub  that 
had  dawdled  down  from  Mandalay. 

I  turned  my  eyes  expectantly  on  Captain  Blane, 
a  short-necked,  weather-beaten  sailor,  in  a  blue 
serge  coat  with  gilt  buttons,  and  a  peaked  cap.  He 
surveyed  me  steadily,  with  a  pair  of  small  keen 
eyes,  and  evidently  did  not  receive  the  suggestion 
with  enthusiasm. 

"  We  don't  carry  passengers,"  he  announced  in 
a  gruff  voice.  **  My  ship  is  only  a  cargo-boat,  a 
tramp ;  and  we  have  no  accommodation  whatso- 
ever." 

**  No  accommodation!  "  echoed  the  clerk,  incredu- 
lously.    "  Oh,  I  say,  come !  " 

"  Why,  you  know  very  well  that  all  the  cabins 
are  chock-full  of  cargo ;  and  we  have  never  carried 
a  passenger  since  I  took  command." 

"  If  there  was  any  hole  or  corner  where  you 
could  stow  me,  I  don't  mind  how  I  rough  it,"  I 
urged;  "  and  I'll  pay  full  first-class  fare." 


THE  FORMER   PASSENGERS.  1 97 

"  Oh,  there's  lots  of  holes  and  corners,"  ad- 
mitted the  captain.  "  And  you'd  just  get  the 
ship's  rations,  same  as  the  officers  and  myself ; 
no  soups  and  entrees — plain  roast  and  boiled." 

"I'm  not  particular;  I'm  ready  to  eat  salt 
junk  and  sea  biscuit.  I'll  do  anything,  short 
of  swimming,  to  get  to  Singapore  by  next 
Wednesday." 

"  Is  it  so  very  important  ?  "  demanded  Captain 
Blane. 

"  A  wedding.  No — no,"  in  answer  to  his  com- 
miserating stare,  **  not  my  own — but  I've  to  give 
away  the  bride." 

"Well,  well,  I  suppose  I  must  try  and  stretch 
a  point.  Mind !  I'U  take  you  at  your  word  about 
the  passage  money.  *  Never  refuse  a  good  offer,' 
is  my  motto ;  so,  Mr. ?  "  and  he  paused  in- 
terrogatively. 

"  Lawrence  is  my  name." 

"  Mr.  Lawrence,  if  you'll  be  down  at  Godwin's 
Wharf  to-morrow,  at  nine  o'clock,  with  your  bag- 
gage and  bedding  and  servant,  we  will  he  off  a  bit. 


198  TEE   FORMER    PASSENGERS. 

and  any  sampan  will  put  you  aboard  iu  five 
minutes.  Ask  for  the  Wandering  Star;"  and  with 
a  nc^  between  the  clerk  and  myself,  he  turned  his 
back  and  stumped  out. 

**  He  is  not  very  keen  about  passengers,  eh  ? " 
remarked  the  clerk  with  a  laugh.  "  I  wonder 
why  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  because  she  is  a  dirty  old  cargo- 
boat.  But  any  port  in  a  storm,  or  rather,  any 
ship,  in  this  crisis,  for  me  !  " 

"Ah,"  said  the  clerk,  rubbing  his  chin  reflec- 
tively, **  I've  a  sort  of  idea — though  perhaps  I 
dreamt  it — that  there  is  sometliing  rum,  or  out  of 
the  way,  about  this  Wanderinj  Star.** 

"Well,  whatever  it  is,  I'll  risk  it,"  I  answered 
with  a  laugh,  as  I  followed  the  captain's  example, 
and  took  my  departure. 

Punctually  at  nine  o'clock  next  morning  I  em- 
barked in  a  sampan,  and  was  rowed  down  the 
swift  Irrawaddy. 

"  That  cannot  be  my  steamer,"  I  protested,  as 
the  boatman  made  for  a  long,  low,  raking  craft,  a 


THE  FORMER  PASSENGERS.  1 99 

craft  of  considerable  pretensions  !  She  looked  like 
one  of  the  smaller  vessels  of  the  P.  and  0.  fleet. 

But  sure  enough  the  boatman  was  right,  for  as 
we  passed  under  her  stern,  I  read  in  yellow  letters 
the  name — Wandering  Star. 

A  closer  inspection  showed  her  to  be  simply 
what  her  commander  had  stated — a  tramp  ;  she 
was  dirty,  rusty,  and  travel-stained.  When  I 
clambered  aboard,  I  found  no  snowy  decks,  or 
shining  brasses,  but  piles  of  cargo,  bustling  coolies, 
and  busy  blue-clad  lascars.  I  was  immediately 
accosted  by  the  captain,  who  presented  me  to  the 
chief  officer,  and  to  a  fellow-traveller,  a  sallow, 
lanky  youth  of  nineteen,  going  to  join  his  friends 
in  the  Straits. 

"  I  thought  he  would  be  company  for  you,"  ex- 
plained the  sailor.  "  We  are  off  in  half  an  hour," 
pointing  to  the  Blue  Peter  at  the  fore.  "  And 
we're  loaded  to  the  hatches.  Mr.  Kell}'  here  will 
show  you  your  quarters." 

As  I  followed  the  chief  officer,  I  was  astonished 
at  the  dimensions  of  the  Star ;  it  was  a  consider- 


500  THE  FORMER    PASSENGERS. 

able  distance  from  the  captain's  snug  cabin,  near 
the  bridge,  to  the  poop.  We  made  our  way  below, 
into  a  long  saloon  with  tables  and  seats  intact, 
but  the  aft  part  piled  high  with  bales.  There  was 
a  strange,  musty,  mouldy  smell ;  it  felt  damp  and 
vault-like,  and  afforded  a  sharp  contrast  to  the 
blazing  sun  and  cobalt  sky  on  deck. 

As  my  eye  became  used  to  the  gloom,  I  noticed 
the  lavish  carving,  the  handsome  mahogany  and 
brass  fittings,  the  maple-wood  doors  and  panels 
— the  remains  of  better  days ! 

My  cabin  contained  two  bunks,  and  in  one  ol 
these  my  servant,  a  Madras  butler,  called 
"  Sawmy,"  had  already  arranged  my  bedding. 

"  I  wonder  you  don't  carry  passengers  ? "  I 
remarked  to  Mr.  Kelly.  "  What  a  fine  saloon  ! 
I  should  have  thought  it  would  have  paid  well." 

"  She  carried  hundreds  in  her  day,"  he  said 
complacently.  "  You  see  there  is  where  the 
piano  was  hitched,  and  there  the  swinging  lamps, 
and  bookcase ;  but,  all  the  same,  it  would  never 
pay  U8  to  take  passengers ;"  and  he  laughed — an 


THE  FORMER   PASSENGERS.  20I 

odd  sort  of  laugh.  "  We  are  not  a  regular  liner, 
you  know,  trading  between  two  ports.  Eegular 
liners  look  on  us  as  dirt ;  but  lots  of  'em  would 
give  a  good  deal  for  our  lines,  and  our  engines. 
There's  some  of  them  I  would  not  send  my  old 
boots  home  in !  "We  pick  up  cargo  as  we  find  it ; 
one  time  we  run  to  Zanzibar,  another  to  Hong 
Kong,  another  to  the  Cape,  or  maybe  Sydney. 
I've  not  been  home  this  three  years.  I  hope 
you'll  find  your  bunk  comfortable ;  the  youngster 
is  opposite,  just  across  the  saloon — you  know 
your  way  back ! "  and  having  done  the  honours, 
he  left  me. 

Certainly,  the  Star  was  much  above  her  present 
business,  and  bore  the  remains  of  having  seen 
better  days.  Even  my  marble  washstand  was  not 
in  keeping  with  a  cargo-steamer.  I  opened  the 
next  cabin ;  it  was  crammed  to  the  door  with 
freight — bird-cages  in  this  instance.  Every  cabin 
was  no  doubt  similarly  packed.  I  was  not  sorry 
to  exchange  the  earthy,  chill  atmosphere  below 
for  the   bright  sunshine  on  deck.     Soon  we  had 


202  THE   FORMER    PASSENGERS. 

weighed  anchor,  and  were  moving  smoothly  down 
the  rapid  Irrawaddy,  between  high  banks  of  tawny 
grass,  gradually  losing  sight  of  the  shipping,  then 
of  the  golden  Pagoda,  then  of  Elephant  Point; 
finally  the  Star  put  her  nose  straight  out,  to 
cross  the  Gulf  of  Martaban.  The  sea  was  calm, 
we  were  well  fed  and  found,  and  made  a  pleasant 
party  of  six ;  the  captain,  first  and  second  officers, 
the  chief  engineer,  and  two  passengers.  I  slept 
like  a  top  that  night,  and  awoke  next  morning, 
and  found  we  were  anchored  off  Moulmein,  with 
its  hills  covered  with  pagodas  and  palms.  From 
Moulmein  we  put  to  sea,  and  still  the  weather  once 
more  favoured  us.  The  captain  was  a  capital 
companion,  full  of  anecdotes  and  sea-stories ; 
the  chief  engineer  was  a  first-rate  chess-player, 
and  I  began  to  think  I  had  done  rather  a  smart 
thing  in  securing  a  passage  in  this  stray  steamer. 
As  the  captain  concluded  a  thrilling  yarn  apropos 
of  a  former  ship,  in  which  he  had  been  third 
officer,  I  suddenly  recalled  the  shipping  clerk's 
hint,  and  asked — 


TEE  FORMER   PASSENGERS.  203 

"Are  there  no  stories  about  this  one?  has  she 
no  history  ?  " 

Captain  Blane  looked  at  the  chief  officer  -with 
a  knowing  grin,  and  then  replied — 

**  History  ? — of  course  she  has.  What  do  you  call 
the  log-book  ?  That's  her  history.  I  suppose  that 
chap  at  the  office  told  you  she  was  considered  an 
unlucky  ship  ?    Eh  ?     Come,  now,  own  up  !  " 

"  No ;  but  he  said  he  had  an  idea  that  there 
was  something  queer  about  her — he  could  not 
remember  what  it  was." 

"Well,  I've  been  in  command  of  her  now  four 
years,  and  I've  seen  nothing  to  complain  of. 
What  do  you  say,  Kelly  ?  "  appealing  to  the  first 
officer. 

"  I  say  that  I  never  wish  to  put  foot  on  a 
better  sea-boat,  and  there's  nothing  wrong  with 
her,  as  far  as  I  know." 

But  Sawmy,  my  Madras  boy,  entertained  a 
totally  different  opinion  of  the  Star.  When  I 
asked  him  why  he  did  not  sleep  outside  my  door 
in  the  saloon,  he  frankly  replied — • 


204  TEE  FORMER   PASSEN0ER3. 

"Because  plenty  devil  in  this  ship;  the  chief 
Serang"  (head  of  the  Lascars)  "telling  me  that 
saloon  plenty  bad  place." 

•  •  *  •  • 

We  were  now  within  forty-eight  hours  of  Singa- 
pore, when  the  weather  suddenly  changed,  as  it 
frequently  does  in  those  treacherous  seas.  The 
awning  was  taken  down — sure  presage  of  a  bad 
time  coming.  The  ports  were  closed,  and  all  was 
made  ready  for  a  blow ;  and  we  were  not  dis- 
appointed— it  came.  We  had  a  rough  night,  but  I 
was  not  in  the  least  inconvenienced;  I  slept  like 
a  dormouse  rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep. 

In  the  morning  my  fellow-passenger  (whose 
name,  by  the  way,  was  Mellish,  and  who  had 
evidently  "  suffered,"  to  judge  by  his  ghastly  ap- 
pearance) accosted  me  timidly  and  said — 

"  Did  you  get  up  and  walk  about  last  night  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Do  you  ever  walk  in  your  sleep  ?  "  he  con- 
tinued. 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge — why?*' 


TEE  FORMER    PASSENGERS.  205 

"  Because  last  night  some  one  came  and 
hammered  on  my  cabin  door,  and  shouted,  'The 
ship's  aground.'  What  do  you  think  it  can 
have  been  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  frightful  face, 

"  I  think  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  was  the  hot 
tinned  lobster  you  had  for  supper,"  I  answered 
promptly. 

**  No,  no,  no,  it  was  not  a  dream — it  woke  me,** 
he  returned.  "I  thought  it  was  you.  Then 
I  tried  to  think  it  was  a  nightmare,  and  had 
almost  brought  myself  to  believe  it,  and  was 
dropping  ofif  to  sleep,  when  a  cold,  cold  wet  hand 
was  passed  slowly  across  my  face ; "  and  he 
shuddered  violently. 

**  Lobster  !  "  I  repeated  emphatically. 

"  No,  no.  Oh,  Mr.  Lawrence,  1  heard  moaning 
and  whispering  and  praying.  I'm  afraid  to  sleep 
in  that  cabin  alone;  may  I  come  and  share  yours?" 

**  There  is  no  room,"  I  answered,  rather  shortly. 
"  The  top  berth  is  crammed  full  of  my  things." 

At  breakfast  there  was  a  good  deal  of  move- 
ment,  and  now   and    then   a   loud    splash   upon 


206  THE  FORMER   PASSENGERS. 

the  deck.  The  captain,  who  had  been  tapping 
the  barometer,  looked  unusually  solemn,  and  said — 

**  We  are  in  for  a  bit  of  dirty  weather  ;  unless  I'm 
mistaken,  there's  a  cyclone  somewhere  about. 
1  don't  think  we  shall  do  more  than  touch  the  edge 
of  it,  and  this  is  a  stout  craft,  so  you  need  not  be 
uneasy." 

This  was  vastly  reassuring,  when  the  sky  to  the 
west  changed  from  a  lowering  grey  to  an  inky 
black.  The  wind  rose  with  a  whimper,  that  in- 
creased to  a  shriek ;  it  lashed  the  sea  with  fury, 
lashed  it  into  enormous  waves,  and,  laden  as  we 
were,  we  began  to  roll,  at  first  majestically,  then 
heavily,  then  helplessly.  We  took  in  great  green 
seas  over  the  bows,  tons  of  water  discharged  them- 
selves amidships,  and  made  us  stagger  and  groan, 
but  still  through  it  all  the  engines  thumped 
doggedly  on. 

We  seized  our  dinner  anyhow ;  sitting,  standing, 
kneeling,  adapting  ourselves  to  the  momentary 
angle  of  the  vessel.  It  was  a  miserable  evening, 
wet  and  cold,  and  Mellish  and  I  went  to  bed  early. 


THE  FORMER   PASSENGERS.  207 

The  dead-lights  were  down,  the  hatchway  closed 
behind  us ;  we  were  entirely  cut  off  from  the  rest 
of  our  shipmates  for  the  night,  and  the  saloon 
smelt  more  vault-like  than  ever.  I  turned  away 
from  Mellish's  grey  frightened  face,  and  stammer- 
ing, piteous  importunities,  shut  myself  into  my 
cabin,  bolted  the  door,  went  to  bed,  and  fell  asleep. 
Meanwhile  the  storm  increased  to  a  hurricane,  the 
motion  was  tremendous.  I  was  flung  violently  out 
on  the  floor,  as  the  Star  made  one  awful  plunge, 
and  then  righted  herself.  I  was,  needless  to  state, 
now  thoroughly  awake,  and  scrambling  back  into 
my  berth,  and  clinging  to  the  woodwork  with  both 
hands,  lay  listening  to  the  roaring  of  the  tempest, 
which  rose  now  and  then  to  a  shrill  shriek,  that 
had  a  terribly  human  sound ;  my  heart  beat  fast, 
as  my  ears  assured  it  that  I  was  not  merely  listen- 
ing to  the  raving  of  the  gale,  but  actually  to  the 
piercing  screams  of  women,  and  the  hoarse  shouts 
of  men !  Just  as  I  had  arrived  at  this  amazing 
conclusion,  the  door  of  the  cabin  was  burst 
open,  and  an  elderly  man,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  was 
hurled  in. 


208  TEE  FORMEB   PASSENQERS. 

"  She's  going  down,"  he  bawled  excitedly,  "  and 
the  hatches  are  fast." 

I  sprang  up,  and  the  next  lurch  shot  us  both  out 
into  the  saloon.  And  what  a  scene  did  I  behold  by 
three  lamps  that  swung  violently  to  and  fro  !  Their 
fitful  light  showed  me  a  large  number  of  half- 
dressed  strangers,  in  the  last  extremity  of  mortal 
fear ;  there  was  the  horrible,  selfish  pushing  and 
struggling  of  a  panic-stricken  crowd,  fighting  their 
way  towards  the  companion-ladder ;  the  wild 
frenzied  distraction  people  exhibit  when  striving 
to  escape  from  some  deadly  peril ;  the  tumult,  the 
cries  and  shrieks  of  frightened  women  making 
frantic  appeals  for  rescue — cries  heart-rending  to 
hear. 

Besides  the  dense  struggling  block  at  one  end  of 
the  cabin,  battling  fiercely  for  escape,  there  were 
various  groups,  apparently  resigned  to  their  im- 
pending fate.  A  family  at  prayer ;  two  men  drink- 
ing raw  brandy  out  of  tumblers ;  an  ayah  beating 
her  head  upon  the  floor,  and  calling  on  "Eam- 
asawmy ;  "  an  old  lady,  with  a  shawl  over  her  head, 


TDE  FOBMER   PASSENGERS.  209 

and  a  Bible  on  her  knee ;  a  young  man  and  a  girl, 
hand  locked  in  hand,  whispering  last  words ;  a 
pale  woman,  with  a  sleeping  child  in  her  arms. 
I  saw  them  all.  I  saw  Mellish  clinging  to  the 
saloon  hand-rail,  his  eyes  glazed  with  horror,  and 
gibbering  like  an  idiot. 

The  crash  of  broken  crockery,  the  shrieks  of 
despair,  the  roaring  of  the  wind,  the  sullen  thunder- 
ing of  the  seas  overhead,  combined  to  make  up 
the  most  frightful  scene  that  could  possibly  be 
imagined. 

Then  all  at  once,  a  beautiful  girl,  with  long 
dark  hair,  streaming  over  a  white  gown,  rushed 
out  of  a  cabin,  and  threw  herself  upon  me,  flinging 
her  arms  round  my  neck ;  she  sobbed — 

"  Oh,  save  me — save  me !  Don't  let  me  die — 
don't  let  me  die  !  " 

Her  wild  agonized  face  was  pressed  closely  to 
mine ;  her  frantic  clasp  round  my  neck  tightened 
like  a  band  of  steel — closer,  closer,  closer.  I  was 
choking.  I  could  not  move  or  breathe.  She  was 
strangling  me,  as  she  shrieked  in  my  car — 


2IO  THE  FOBMER   PASSENGERS. 

"  It  is  coming  now  !      This  is  death  !  ** 
There  was  one  awful  lurch,  a  grinding  crash,  a 
sinking  sensation,  a  vice-like  grip  about  my  throat 
— and  outer  darkness. 

•  «  •  •  » 

I  was  aroused  in  broad  daylig'it  by  Sawmy,  who 
had  brought  my  tea  and  shaving-water.  I  was 
lying  on  the  floor  of  the  saloon,  and  he  was 
stooping  over  me,  with  a  frightened  expression  on 
his  broad,  brown  countenance. 

"  At  first  I  thinking  master  dead !  "  was  his 
candid  announcement.  "  Me  plenty  fraiding. 
Why  master  lying  here  and  no  in  bed  ?  '*  Why 
indeed  ! 

A  plunge  of  my  head  into  cool  water,  and  a  cup 
of  tea,  brought  me  to  myself,  and  then  I  flung  on 
my  dressing-gown,  and  hurried  across  the  saloon 
to  see  what  had  become  of  the  miserable  Mellish. 

He  was  stretched  in  his  berth,  with  a  life-belt 
beside  him,  rigid  and  cold,  and  in  a  sort  of  fit. 

With  brandy,  burnt  brown  paper,  and  great 
difficulty,  Sawmy  and  I  brought  him  round.     As 


THE  FORMER   PASSENGERS.  211 

soon  as  he  had  come  to  his  senses,  and  realized 
that  he  was  still  in  the  land  of  the  living,  he  sat 
up  and  turned  on  me  quite  ferociously,  and  said — 

"And  that's  what  you  call  lobster!  " 

•  «  •  •  • 

The  weather  had  moderated  considerably,  and 
though  I  had  no  great  appetite,  I  was  able  to 
appear  at  breakfast.  Mellish  was  too  shattered 
to  join  us,  and  lay  in  a  long  chair  in  the  deck- 
house, sipping  beef-tea,  and  hysterically  assuring 
all  inquirers  that  "  he  would  never  again  set  foot 
in  the  saloon — no,  he  would  much  rather  die  ! " 

"I  suppose  you  got  knocked  about  a  bit  last 
night  ? "  inquired  the  captain,  with  a  searching 
glance. 

"  Not  exactly  knocked  about ;  1  did  not  mind 
that  so  much,  but "  and  I  hpsitated. 

**  But  you  were  disturbed  ?  "  he  added  signifi- 
cantly. 

"  Yes,  very  much  so ;  I  hope  I  shall  never  bo 
disturbed  in  such  a  way  again." 

"  Then  I  take  it  you've  seen  them-  the  former 


212  THE  FORMER   PASSENGERS. 

passengers  ?  They  are  generally  aboard,  they  say, 
in  dirty  weather." 

**  Whatever  they  were,  I  trust  in  God  I  may 
never  witness  such  another  scene." 

**  You  don't  wonder  now  that  we  are  not  free  of 
offering  cabin  accommodation,  eh?  Not  that  I 
ever  saw  anything  myself." 

"  But  you  admit  that  there  is  something.*' 

**So  they  say" — nodding  his  head  with  a 
jaunty  air. 

**  And  what  is  the  explanation  ?  What  do  they 
Bay  ?  "  I  asked  impatiently. 

**  Just  this.  The  Wandering  Star  was  once  the 
Atalanta,  a  fine  passenger  steamer,  and,  coming 
out  her  last  trip,  she  fell  in  for  the  tail  of  a  cyclone, 
and  came  to  grief  off  the  Laccadives ;  blown  out  of 
her  course,  engine-fires  put  out,  went  on  a  rock, 
and  sank  in  ten  fathoms ;  every  soul  on  board  went 
down,  except  a  steward  and  a  fireman,  who  got  off 
on  a  hen-coop.  It  was  an  awful  business — sixty- 
nine  passengers,  besides  officers  and  crew.  She 
sank  like  a  stone,  no  time  to  get  battered  to  pieces. 


TEE  FOBMER   PASSENGERS.  213 

and  so  she  was  right  well  worth  her  salvage.  A 
company  bought  her  cheap;  she  was  but  httle 
damaged — they  raised  and  sold  her.  She  was  in- 
tended for  the  pilgrim  traffic,  from  Bombay  to 
Mecca,  and  in  fact  she  did  make  a  couple  of  trips ; 
but  somehow  she  got  a  bad  name  ;  the  pilgrims 
said  she  was  possessed  of  devils — ha !  ha  ! — and  so 
the  owners  put  her  into  the  wheat  and  rice  and 
general  cargo  trade,  and  we  have  no  complaints. 
She  has  been  at  it  these  five  years,  and  is,  as  I 
take  you  to  witness,  a  grand  sea-boat,  and  has 
fine  accommodation  betweendecks  as  well  as  aft ; 
it's  only  in  real  dirty  weather  that  there  is  any- 
thing amiss,  and  that  in  the  saloon.  They  say," 
lowering  his  voice  to  a  hoarse  whisper,  "they  kept 
the  passengers  below,  battened  down ;  they  got  no 
chance  for  their  lives.  It  was  a  mistake ;  they 
were  all  drowned  like  rats  in  their  holes.  Mind 
you,  I've  seen  nothing,  and  I'm  not  a  superstitious 
man." 

"Would  you  sleep  in  the  saloon?"  I  sternly 
demanded. 


214  TEE  FORMER   PASSENGERS. 

"No;  for  in  a  blow  my  place  is  on  the  bridge. 
But  I'll  not  deny  that  a  second  officer,  who  has  left 
us,  tried  a  bunk  down  there  once,  out  of  curiosity, 
and  did  not  repeat  the  experiment ;  he  was  properly 
scared;"  and  the  captain  chuckled  at  the  recol- 
lection. 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  get  in  to-night  ? "  I  re- 
marked, as  we  paced  the  deck  together. 

"Yes,  about  eleven  o'clock.  We  are  doing  our 
twelve  knots,  dirty-looking  old  hooker  as  we  are !  " 

"  So  much  the  better,"  I  answered,  **  for  you 
will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  I'm  not  anxious 
to  occupy  my  berth  again." 

I  am  thankful  to  relate  that  I  slept  on  land  that 
same  night,  and  was  not  "  disturbed." 

•  «  »  »  • 

I  often  glance  at  the  shipping  lists,  to  see  if 
there  is  any  news  of  the  Wandering  Star.  I  note 
that  she  is  still  tramping  the  ocean  from  China 
to  Peru,  and  I  have  not  the  smallest  doubt  but 
that,  on  stormy  nights,  the  saloon  is  still 
crowded  with  the  distracted  spectres  of  her  former 
passengers. 


THE  SECRET  OF    THE  AMULET. 

"  Frailty,  thy  ii:ime  is  woman  !  " — Hamlet. 

People  said  they  were  from  the  north — even  from 
beyond  Peshawar — the  two  tall  men,  with  fair 
skins  and  long  brown  hair,  but  no  one  had  time 
to  ascertain  their  name  or  business,  for  between 
the  sunset  and  dawn  both  had  fallen  a  prey  to  that 
horrible  throat  disease  that  seizes  its  victims  by  the 
gullet,  and  strangles  them  almost  on  the  spot.  Thus 
they  died  in  the  great  serai  at  Hassanpur — leaving 
behind  them  three  stout  Cabuli  ponies,  two  rolls 
of  bedding,  and  one  little  boy ;  also,  it  was  whispered 
in  the  bazaar,  a  considerable  sum  of  money  in  ex- 
cellent Government  notes  ;  but  this,  the  policeman 
in  charge  of  the  serai  swore  by  the  soul  of  his 
fathtr,  was  a  black  lie,  and,  with  the  sanction  of 


2l6  THE  SECRET   OF   THE  AMULET. 

the  authorities,  be  made  over  the  child  and  three 
ponies  to  the  keeping  of  his  maternal  uncle, 
Ibrahim  Khan  (the  same  who  lives  at  the  corner 
of  the  road  as  you  go  to  the  sugar- works).  Ibrahim 
sold  the  ponies  to  his  satisfaction  to  oflScers  in  the 
cantonments,  and  suffered  the  child  to  share  his 
roof,  and  also  his  extremely  frugal  fare.  An  Indian 
community  is  never  slow  to  talk,  and  it  was 
breathed  from  ear  to  ear,  that  the  traders  had 
been  wealthy,  and  that  Nubbi  Bux,  the  policeman, 
and  Ibrahim,  his  kinsman,  had  divided  the  spoil 
between  them.  One  thing  was  manifest :  nought 
had  descended  to  Kareem,  the  rightful  heir  ! 

He  was  a  fair- skinned  little  fellow,  with  dancing 
dark  eyes,  who  ran  about  the  roads  almost  naked, 
with  an  old  flat  copper  amulet  tied  round  his  neck 
by  a  piece  of  string ;  he  was  about  four  years  of 
age,  as  pretty  as  a  bronze  Cupid;  the  women 
petted  him  for  his  good  looks,  and  he  found  many 
congenial  playfellows  among  the  narrow  alleys  and 
courtyards  of  the  swarming  hurra  bazar.  Ibrahim, 
Kareem's  adopted  grandfather,  was  an  avaricious 


TUE   SECRET  OF    THE   AMULET.  2\'J 

old  person,  with  a  booked  nose,  pendulous  underlip, 
and  frowsy  turban,  wbo  sat  all  day  long  in  a  shop 
like  a  nicbe — it  looked  no  bigger  than  a  wardrobe 
— lined  with  empty  jars,  bottles,  broken  lamps, 
cracked  cups  and  saucers,  and  battered  odd  volumes 
of  worthless  books.  He  did  not  sell  much,  but  he 
served  market  people  with  pulls  at  a  huka,  at  a 
fixed  price ;  and  he  was  reputed  to  lend  money  at 
enormous  interest. 

If  you  know  the  city  of  Hassanpur,  where  it  lies 
between  two  capricious  rivers,  and  surrounded  by 
a  vast  grain  country,  jou  must  be  familiar  with 
the  long  red  bridge  over  the  Kanat,  on  the  parapet 
of  which  a  mendicant  sits,  who  rests  not  from 
dawn  till  dusk  calling,  "  Blind  man— blind  man." 
Just  at  the  foot  of  the  bridge  is  the  great  serai,  or 
wayside  house,  for  travellers,  with  its  lofty  walls, 
spacious  inclosure,  and  entrance  gate  worthy  of  a 
mosque— both  it  and  the  bridge  were  built  by  a 
rich  native,  who  wished  his  name  to  go  down  to 
posterity  ;  but  to  thousands  who  cross  the  one,  and 
hundreds  who  halt  at  the  other,  it  is  unknown— 


2l8  TUB  SECRET  OF   THE  AMULET. 

no  doubt  they  imagine  both  to  be  the  work  of  the 
all-powerful  and  ever-active  Sircar  (Government) . 

Kareem's  tastes  did  not  lean  to  trade ;  far  from 
it !  he  had  no  aptitude  in  bargaining  for  kid  skins, 
empty  bottles,  and  kerosine  oil  tins.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  had  an  uncontrollable  passion  for  horses, 
and  when  he  grew  too  old  to  build  houses  in  the 
dust,  and  play  baby  games,  he  used  to  hang  about 
the  serai  and  haunt  the  society  of  camel-drivers 
and  horse-dealers.  He  soon  became  acquainted 
with  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  divers  kinds 
of  beasts  that  crowded  the  inclosure ;  camels,  ekka 
ponies,  buffaloes,  mules,  elephants,  and  squealing 
country-breds.  He  knew  all  their  peculiarities, 
and  was  not  afraid  of  one  of  them.  Many  and 
many  a  time,  he  played  truant  from  the  munshi 
and  his  lessons,  and  many  a  time  his  angry  grand- 
father sought  him  with  a  stick,  and  drove  him  forth 
with  blows  and  curses ;  but  now — Kareem  was  a 
smart  lad  of  eighteen,  and  useful  to  traders  and 
travellers.  Moreover  he  earned  money,  and  Ibra- 
him viewed  his  visits  to  the   serai  with  extreme 


TEE  SECRET   OF  THE  AMULET.         21  9 

complacency.  Within  the  last  ten  years  he  hiu\ 
become  a  well-known  and  popular  character.  New 
arrivals  and  regular  habitues  immediately  shouted 
for  "  Kareem,  Kareem."  He  was  a  person  of  far 
more  importance  than  the  sleejiy  policeman  in 
charge — not  his  original  patron,  who  had  picked 
him  up  from  between  two  dead  men,  and  placed 
him  out  in  the  world ! 

One  hot  April  evening,  as  Kareem  squatted  idly 
at  the  serai  entrance,  enjoying  a  huka  and  a 
"  bukk  "  with  a  lad  of  his  own  age,  he  noticed  a 
cloud  of  white  dust  whirling  down  the  bridge.  No 
— it  was  not  driven  by  the  wind,  but  caused  by  a 
wild  runaway.  In  a  second  he  had  recognized  the 
collector's  little  boy,  on  his  chestnut  pony,  racing 
towards  him  at  break-neck  pace — a  huge  lumber- 
ing camel  carriage  had  frightened  the  overfed, 
pampered  Tattoo,  and  he  was  making  for  home  at 
a  mad  gallop.  Kareem  stood  up>  and  dashed  into 
the  road;  he  was  lithe  and  active  as  a  hunting 
leopard.  As  the  pony  passed,  he  sprang  at  it,  like 
a  starving  beast  of  prey,  clung  to  its  neck,  and 


2  20         TEE   SECRET   OF    THE  AMULET. 

ran  alongside  until  he  had  effectually  checked  its 
career,  but  only  just  in  time — only  just  before  it 
turned  the  sharp  corner  into  the  bazaar.  The 
collector  now  rode  up ;  his  face  grey  with  fear.  He 
knew  too  well  what  would  have  been  the  child's 
fate,  /'lad  the  fiery  little  animal  bolted  through 
those  narrow  streets,  impassable  with  ekkas  and 
bullock  carts,  and  he  shuddered  as  he  wiped  the 
perspiration  from  his  face,  and  tendered  Kareem 
his  tremulous  thanks.  But  empty  thanks  were 
not  to  be  his  sole  portion.  As  he  attached  a  lead- 
ing rein  from  the  pony's  bridle  to  the  collector's 
shaking  hand,  that  gentleman  said,  "  Let  me  see 
you  to-morrow  morning  at  nine  o'clock,"  and  then 
the  pair  trotted  soberly  away. 

Mr.  Colebrook,  the  collector,  lived  in  a  fine  square 
flat-roofed  bungalow,  about  two  miles  from  the 
city,  in  the  civil  lines.  It  stood  in  a  spacious  com- 
pound studded  with  fine  trees,  and  was  approached 
by  a  winding  gravelled  avenue.  Kareem  went  up 
this  avenue,  slowly  and  doubtfully ;  he  was  not  in 
the  habit  of  frequenting  such  grand  dwellings,  and 


THE   SECRET   OF   THE   AMULET.         221 

presently  he  came  to  a  dead  halt,  and  sat  down  at 
a  respectful  distance,  under  a  cork  tree ;  and  here 
the  collector  saw  him,  and  beckoned  him  from  his 
office  verandah. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Colebrook  to  himself,  "  a  fine 
frank  face,  and  surely  not  a  native  of  these  parts." 

In  answer  to  a  question,  Kareem  replied — 

"  No,  your  worship,  I  am  from  the  north — so 
they  say." 

**  They  say  ?  "  echoed  the  gentleman.  "  What 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  My  father  died  in  the  serai  fifteen  years  ago, 
your  honour ;  no  one  knew  his  name  or  country  ; 
and  old  Ibrahim  took  me  ;  he  says  I  am  a  Cabuli 
or  a  Cashmeri.     God  knows." 

**  And  what  is  your  occupation  ?  '* 

"  By  your  honour's  favour,  I  work  in  the  serai, 
and  earn  from  one  rupee  to  four  rupees  a  mouth, 
according  to  the  season." 

**  Then  you  understand  horses." 

"  Oh  !  " — his  face  lighting  up — "  by  your  favour, 
yes  ;  and  I  can  ride," 


222  TEE   SECRET   OF    THE  AMULET. 

"  Then,  I  will  take  you  on  as  syce  for  my  son's 
pony — the  one  you  caught  yesterday." 

Kareem  salaamed  to  the  very  matting. 

"  Your  pay  will  be  seven  rupees  a  month  and 
clothes." 

Now,  six  rupees  is  a  man's  pay,  and  Kareem 
was  but  eighteen.  Kareem's  heart  was  too  full 
for  words ;  he  was  almost  overcome,  and  on  the 
very  verge  of  tears.  All  his  comrades  knew  that 
he  was  an  odd,  excitable  boy,  and  laughed  and 
cried  like  a  woman !  His  feet  seemed  scarcely  to 
touch  the  ground;  he  sped  along  as  if  they  had 
wings,  and  he  was  a  second  Mercury  carrying 
home  the  great  news — first  over  the  wide  white 
roads,  then  across  the  railway,  and  finally  he 
plunged  into  the  bazaar. 

Kareem  ran  along  at  a  sling  trot,  hustling  and 
thrusting  his  slim  body  through  the  densely-packed 
thoroughfares ;  at  last  he  arrived  at  home  and 
panted  out  his  marvellous  tidings  to  old  Ibrahim. 
That  patriarch  received  the  intelligence  with  so 
many  exclamations  of  "  Oh,  ye  fathers  !  "  and  so 


277^  SECIiET   OF   THE  AMULET.  223 

much  clawing  of  his  beard,  that  Kareem  felt 
assured  that  he  had  been  handsomely  launched  in 
life,  and  was  indeed  a  man  of  considerable  impor- 
tance ;  he  lost  no  time,  that  same  evening,  ia 
hurrying  to  the  bridge  (a  kind  of  local  Rialto)  and 
there  expounding  his  success  to  a  curious  and 
envious  crowd  of  listening  friends.  Among  tho 
crowd  was  Pera,  Ibrahim's  grand-niece,  Kareem's 
former  playmate — and  present  idol.  She  was  four 
years  younger  than  him  by  months  and  days,  but 
thirty  years  his  senior  in  experience,  in  worldly 
wisdom,  and  in  wickedness.  Undoubtedly  she  was 
extremely  pretty,  with  wondrously-traced  arched 
brows,  red  lips,  and  eloquent  black  eyes.  Never- 
theless her  grand-uncle  detested  her,  and  most  of 
her  own  sex  bore  her  unconcealed  animosity ;  they 
declared,  "  She  was  as  false  as  the  devil,  deep  as 
the  pit,  and  as  dangerous  as  a  snake  with  a  head 
at  both  ends."  People  hinted  that  Abdool,  her 
father,  was  in  debt  to  his  uncle  Ibrahim  ;  and  also 
that  Pera  was  promised  in  marriage  to  Hindoo,  her 
cousin,  a  handsome  hawk-eyed  man,  with  a  scar  on 


2  24  THE  SECRET   OF   THE   AMULET. 

his  cheek  and  minus  one  finger.  There  was  some 
mystery  about  Mindoo.  Once,  he  had  been  absent 
for  three  whole  years,  and  it  was  an  unexplained 
absence ;  for  it  was  mere  foolishness  for  his  brothers 
to  say  that  he  had  joined  a  horse-dealer  and  had 
gone  down  to  Allahabad.  Does  it  take  three  years 
to  sell  a  dozen  ponies  ? 

Mindoo  was  a  stalwart,  taciturn  man,  and  some- 
what feared ;  therefore  no  one  called  him  a  bud- 
mash  to  his  face,  or  even  in  the  ears  of  his  kindred. 
He  worked  with  a  carpenter  who  mended  ekkas 
and  gharries,  and  was  clever  with  the  chisel  and 
the  saw.  Nevertheless,  people  whispered  that  he 
had  never  learnt  this  trade  at  Hassanpur  in  his 
youth — but  in  Allahabad  jail  khana. 

Pera  was  among  Kareem's  audience,  and  listened, 
with  unaffected  interest,  to  the  particulars  of  his 
rise  in  life.  He  had  been  her  slave  ever  since  she 
could  speak,  and  now  most  of  his  scanty  earnings 
went  to  gratify  her  taste  for  cocoanut-sweets  and 
coloured  glass  bangles.  "You  will  not  scorn  me 
now,  Pera,"  he  pleaded,  as  they  loitered  together 


THE  SECRET   OF   THE  AMULET.  225 

near  the  tamarind  tree.  "Behold,  I  am  in  the 
collector  sahib's  ser\ice.  I  am  to  have  seven 
rupees  and  clothes.  I  have  as  much  wages  as 
Mindoo ! "  But  Pera  only  peeped  coquettishly 
round  the  corner  of  her  orange  saree,  laughed 
saucily,  and  ran  away. 

Kareem  wa?  soon  installed  in  his  new  post,  and 
■wearing  a  smart  blue  suit  and  gorgeous  red  turban, 
felt  the  sense  of  personal  importance  accruing  from 
new  garments,  when  he  encountered  his  old  friends. 
His  duties  proved  to  be  trifling  in  comparison  to 
his  drudgery  in  the  serai,  though,  now  and  then, 
he  had  enjoyed  the  fierce,  mad  delight  of  mounting 
some  unbroken  colt,  and  galloping  it  bare-backed 
over  the  bridge,  away  along  the  Lucknow  road, 
between  the  waving  elephant  grass,  past  little 
brown  houses  with  pumpkins  on  the  roof,  past 
pools  half  filled  with  hideous  blue  buffaloes,  scatter- 
ing children,  pariah  dogs,  and  goats,  as  if  he  was 
mounted  on  a  whirlwind,  and  riding  on  the  storm. 

Here,  he  had  merely  to  groom  and  feed  an 
irritable  little  chestnut  pony,  no  bigger  than  a  calf; 

Q 


2  26  THE  SECRET   OF   TEE  AMULET. 

to  lead  out  the  "lal  Tattoo,"  as  Harry  Saliib 
called  it,  with  its  master  on  its  back,  of  a  morning 
oTer  the  dewy  maidans  and  along  the  shady  roads. 
He  ran  with  it  as  it  cantered,  and  even  galloped, 
though  once  or  twice  he  was  suddenly  obliged  to 
stop,  and  lean  against  a  tree,  his  face  grey  and 
drawn,  and  groan  aloud  with  agony  (he  had, 
though  he  knew  it  not,  advanced  disease  of  the 
heart) ;  he  would  earnestly  beseech  Harry  Sahib 
not  to  tell  the  collector,  and,  as  a  bribe,  would  hold 
Harry  Sahib  in  the  saddle,  whilst  he  piloted  him 
over  tiny  nullahs,  to  that  young  gentleman's  huge 
delight.  The  little  boy  spoke  Hindustani  as  his 
native  tongue,  and  soon  he  and  his  syce  became 
Bworn  and  intimate  friends.  Harry  Sahib  had  no 
mother,  only  a  lazy,  elderly  European  nurse,  who 
liked  her  beer,  her  slumbers,  and  her  ease,  and  was 
secretly  thankful  to  Kareem  for  taking  the  brat  off 
her  hands.  Otherwise,  Harry  Sahib  might  not 
have  spent  so  many  happy  hours  about  the  stables, 
whilst  his  unsuspecting  papa  was  absent  at  Cut- 
cherry.     One  day,  whilst  he  was  romping  with  his 


THE  SECRET  OF   THE  AMVLET.  22 J 

playmate,  and  rolling  over  and  over  with  him  in 
piles  of  "  bedding  straw,"  he  suddenly  snatched  at 
a  cord  round  his  neck,  and  a  copper  amulet  came 
off  in  his  hand.  They  fought  for  it  for  fully  five 
minutes.  Harry  held  it  tight  in  his  Httle  fist,  and 
screamed  and  kicked  and  even  hit,  but  refused  to 
release  it ;  in  the  struggle  the  amulet  was  broken, 
and  a  small  piece  of  parchment  fell  out,  which 
Kareem  instantly  pounced  on.  It  was  about  two 
inches  long  by  one  wide,  and  was  covered  on 
both  sides  with  closely-written  quaint  characters. 
Kareem,  with  much  abuse  and  slippering,  had 
learned  to  read  the  Koran  and  part  of  the  Gulistan 
of  Sadi,  but  never  such  letters  as  these  ! 

**  What  is  it  ? "  inquired  Harry  Sahib,  im- 
patiently. 

"  I  cannot  say,  Hazoor.   I  never  knew  it  opened." 

"  Oh,  I'll  get  it  mended,  the  brass  thing ;  but 
can  you  read  the  chit  inside  ?  " 

"  No,  not  this  writing." 

**  Let  me  show  it  to  father ;  he  can  read  any- 
thing 1  " 


228  THE   SECBET   OF   TEE  AMULET. 

"  Yes,  his  honour  is  a  learned  pundit,  but  I  will 
not  trouble  him,"  said  Kareem,  independently. 

He  thought  he  would  rather  take  it,  and  have  it 
explained  by  a  Moulvi  in  a  bazaar,  nearer  home. 
But  in  all  the  city  quarter,  was  not  found  one  man 
who  could  translate  it,  though  passed  from  hand 
to  hand,  and  learned  patriarchs  in  horn  spectacles 
pored  over  it,  peered  into  it,  turned  it  backwards 
and  forwards,  and  upside  down,  and  decided  that 
it  was  in  some  dead  tongue,  and  doubtless  was  a 
charm  against  Jadoo  (Magic)  or  the  Evil  Eye ! 
Finally,  Kareem  fell  back  on  his  young  master's 
advice,  and,  with  much  salaaming  and  many 
apologies,  submitted  the  little  scrap  to  the  collector. 
Mr.  Colebrook  examined  it  carefully  through  his 
glasses,  and  then  by  means  of  a  microscope,  and 
asked  Kareem  "  how  he  came  by  it  ?  " 

**  Protector  of  the  Poor,  it  is  all  I  possess,  and 
was  round  my  throat  as  an  infant." 

The  collector  was  very  busy  just  at  this  time 
and  said,  **  As  soon  as  I  have  any  leisure,  Kareem, 
I  will  see  what  I  can  make  of  this/'  and  Kareem 


THE  SECRET  OF   THE  AMULET.  229 

withdrew  with  profuse  thanks.  For  so  long  did 
his  master  ponder  over  the  parchment,  that 
Kareem's  hopes  faded  away,  and  he  had  almost 
forgotten  the  amulet,  and  believed  its  contents  to 
be  a  mj'th.  But  one  day,  at  the  end  of  the  rains, 
he  was  summoned  into  the  collector's  office.  That 
gentleman  was  alone,  and,  rising,  closed  the  door, 
and  beckoning  to  Kareem  to  come  near,  said 
rather  mysteriously,  "I  have  had  great  difficulty 
in  making  it  out "  —  showing  the  writing. 
**  Indeed  I  had  nearly  given  it  up ;  but  at  last 
I  got  a  clue,  and  I  have  read  it !  " 

"Yes,  your  highness.*' 

"You  must  keep  what  I  am  going  to  read  to 
you  a  secret  " — Kareem's  eyes  sparkled.  "  It  is 
for  your  own  good,  and  now  listen,"  lowering  his 
voice  to  a  whisper.  "  This  " — displaying  the  scrap 
— "is  in  ancient  Persian  characters,  and  relates 
to  a  treasure  that  has  been  buried  for  more  than 
three  hundred. years."  Kareem  endeavoured  to 
speak,  but  failed  to  articulate.  "  Yes — apparently 
some  of  the  spoils  of  Mahommed  of  Guznee,  who 


230  TEE  SECRET   OF   THE  AMULET. 

took  and  conquered  the  Punjab,  and  made  twelve 
raiding  expeditions  into  Hindustan.  Doubtless 
this  is  some  loot  that  the  victors  failed  to  carry  off 
and  concealed — possibly  they  were  hotly  pursued. 

"It  says" — now  taking  off  his  glasses  and 
applying  a  microscope  to  his  eye  and  reading 
very  slowly — "  '  Eighty  fcoss  north  from  Hassanpur, 
on  the  edge  of  the  Goomptee  river,  that  is  within 
fifty  paces,  near  the  great  bridge  and  between 
milestone  and  saal  tree,  I,  Fateh  Din,  bury  a 
rich  store  of  jewels  and  gold,  by  reason  of  one 
camel  being  sorely  wounded  and  the  enemy 
pressing  on  fast.  May  Allah  preserve  it  for  me 
and  mine  !  '  " 

The  syce's  eyes  seemed  double  their  usual  size, 
his  face  worked  with  emotion,  he  could  not 
speak ;  he  could  only  gasp  and  sob  as  the  collector 
went  on — 

"  This  is  the  catalogue,  only  a  partial  one 
apparently,"  turning  and  reading  the  reverse  of 
the  parchment. 

** '  Two  khantas  (necklaces)  of  rubies  and  pearls. 


TEE   SECRET  OF  THE  AMULET.  231 

very  large.  Four  sirpech  (forehead  ornaments)  of 
diamonds.  Twelve  hazahands  (armlets)  of  choice 
emeralds.  Five  turals  (plumes)  of  great  brilHants. 
One  coat  embroidered  in  seed  pearls,  five  gold 
Btirrups.' 

"  You  must  keep  silent  as  the  grave,  Kareom," 
said  his  master,  laying  down  the  microscope. 
"  It  is  possible  that  there  is  a  quantity  of  gold 
coin  as  well  as  jewels.  The  list  seems  broken  oflf 
suddenly;  it  remains  entirely  with  yourself  to 
be  a  rich  man,  and  if  you  would  be  wealthy,  be 
silent.  I  am  going  into  that  part  of  the  district 
this  cold  weather.  Can  you  hold  your  tongue 
for  two  months  ?  " 

"  I  can,  sahib,"  faltered  Kareem,  who  was 
trembling  all  over. 

"I  think  I  know  the  place — the  bridge  was 
destroyed  forty  years  ago,  but  its  piers  are  still 
standing ;  the  old  road,  too,  has  fallen  into  disuse 
since  we  have  the  railway  and  canal,  but  I  believe 
I  can  put  my  hand  on  the  very  spot,  between  the 
saal  tree  and  the  milestone." 


232  TEE  SECRET  OF   THE  AMULET. 

"And  will  all  this  treasure  be  mine?"  whis- 
pered Kareem. 

"  Yes,  since  you  claim  it  by  the  writing,  which 
has  doubtless  been  in  your  family  for  many  gene- 
rations. Possibly  your  father  was  in  search  of 
this  treasure  when  he  died." 

*'  Yes,  most  true,  your  highness." 
*'  Only  for   this  paper  in   your  possession,   it 
would  be  claimed  and  recovered  by  Government." 
'*  May  I  tell  my  grandfather,  Ibrahim  Khan  ?  " 
"  I  suppose  you  may — that  is,  if  he  is  a  cautious 
man ;    but  mind  this,  Kareem,  to  no   one   else ; 
above  all,  to  no  woman." 

"  No  fear,  your  honour ;  I  know  that  a  slip  of 
the  tongue  is  worse  than  a  slip  of  the  foot." 

"  You  are  young  to  have  learnt  that  lesson ; 
bear  it  well  in  mind.     And  now  you  can  go." 

Old  Ibrahim  heard  the  splendid  news  that 
same  night,  as  he  and  his  adopted  grandson  sat 
on  the  rug  in  the  middle  of  the  shop,  with  the 
oil-lamp  swinging  between  them;  heard  it  with 
puckered  face,   twitching   claw-like    fingers,   and 


TEE  SECRET  OF   TEE  AMULET.  233 

glittering  eyes.  What  was  the  store  he  had 
buried  beneath  the  floor  in  comparison  to  this? 
Two  camel-loads  of  gold  and  jewels !  Oh !  if  he 
had  only  taken  the  worthless-looking  amulet  when 
he  appropriated  the  ponies  and  the  money;  it 
was  the  richest  prize  of  all ;  but  alas  !  he  was 
ever  unfortunate. 

"Let  us  go  forth  and  seek  it  now,"  he  panted; 
"we  will  arise  and  take  two  ekkas  with  strong 
ponies,  and  spades,  and  sacks,  and  start.  I  will 
aver  that  we  are  gone  to  a  marriage  at  Aligarh." 

"You  would  not  be  believed,"  returned  Kareem 
scornfully ;  "  and  how  would  you  get  the  ekkas, 
or  buy  spades,  without  raising  suspicion?  The 
place  is  full  of  robbers  and  budmashes,  and  the 
distance  is  too  long  for  an  old  man  like  you ; 
we  would  both  be  murdered.  No,  I  will  wait  and 
go  with  the  collector  sahib ;  he  will  lend  carts, 
and  we  need  have  no  fear — we  shall  have  the 
protection  of  the  Sircar." 

"Oh  yes,  but  you  are  a  young  man,"  whined 
Ibrahim,  twisting   his  hands  convulsively,  "and 


234  THE   SECBET   OF   TEE  AMULET. 

in  two  months  I  may  be  dead  !  Oh  !  and  I  know 
80  well  where  to  sell  gold  and  precious  stones ; 
where  we  shall  get  a  great  price  quietly,  and 
without  question  or  dispute." 

"  You  will  surely  live  two  months,"  rejoined 
Kareem.  **  At  any  rate,  I  have  given  my  word 
to  the  sahib,  and  it  must  be  as  he  wills." 

From  this  time  forward,  a  great  change  came 
over  Kareem ;  he  no  longer  laughed  and  ges- 
ticulated and  showed  his  teeth — white  as  the 
slit  of  a  cocoanut ;  he  no  longer  gossiped  in  the 
serai,  or  gambled  below  the  bridge ;  he  found  his 
secret  very  burdensome,  and  his  veins  seemed 
filled  with  a  burning  fever  of  restlessness ;  his 
eyes  looked  large  and  his  cheeks  hollow;  his 
song  was  no  longer  on  his  lips. 

As  for  old  Ibrahim,  he  now  cared  nought  for 
his  trade  ;  and  what,  asked  the  neighbours,  had  he 
and  Kareem  in  common  that  they  were  so  often 
together,  conferring  earnestly  in  low  whispers  ? 

Kareem  was  much  at  liome,  too,  and  people 
began   to    marvel;    he   seemed  preoccupied    and 


TEE   SECRET   OF    THE   AMULET.         235 

strange  and  proud ;  he  refused  to  gamble ;  he  took 
no  interest  in  kite-flying;  instead  of  which,  ho 
was  constantly  muttering  into  the  ear  of  his 
grandfather.  "Why?  What  were  they  talking 
about  ?    What  was  their  secret  ?" 

Kareem  was  recounting  the  list  of  spoil  for. the 
hundredth  time,  and  Ibrahim  was  bestowing  much 
sage  advice  on  his  protege. 

*'My  son,  above  all  keep  the  secret  from  a 
woman — from  Pera;  do  not  let  her  mischievous 
eyes  draw  you  into  her  snare.  She  is  bad,  she  is 
insolent  to  you ;  may  her  hair  take  fire !  '* 

"  But  you  know  the  proverb,  a  blow  in  the 
mouth  from  the  hand  of  her  we  love  is  sweeter 
than  raisins,"  argued  the  youth. 

*'  And  you  love  her  ?  "  shrieked  the  old  man. 

Kareem  nodded  his  head. 

"Oh,  ye  fathers!"  exclaimed  Ibrahim;  "but 
she  will  marry  that  budmash  Hindoo." 

"  She  cares  not  for  him,  and  I  shall  be  rich." 

"Yes;  and  who  has  money  in  the  scales,  has 
strength  in  his  arms.    He  who  has  no  money  is 


236  TEE   SECRET   OF   TEE   AMULET. 

destitute  of  friends.  Hearken,  my  son ;  Pera  will 
spend  your  riches  like  flowing  water." 

"  Time  enough  to  talk  of  spending  when  I 
possess  them,"  rejoined  the  lad,  prudently. 

**  Fair  son  of  my  old  age,  give  me  your  promise 
to  keep  the  news  from  her ;  swear  it  by  the  beard 
of  the  Prophet." 

**  I  swear  by  the  soul  of  my  father ;  am  I  a  child 
or  a  fool  ?  "  he  demanded  angrily. 

"  Alas  !  in  her  hands  you  are  both,** 

Kareem's  altered  manner  was  not  lost  on  Pera, 
and  she  smilingly  promised  her  immediate  circle  to 
probe  his  secret,  and  that  they  should  all  speedily 
learn  why  he  gavfe  himself  airs  like  a  Nawab. 

She  drew  him  on,  and  encouraged  the  infatuated 
boy,  and  gained  her  old  ascendency  over  him  in 
less  than  two  days.  He  entirely  forgot  Ibrahim's 
solemn  warnings,  and  what  chance  has  a  wrinkled 
ugly  old  man  against  the  charms  and  the  mocking 
words,  and  bright  glances,  of  a  Circe  of  sixteen  ? 
She  asked  Kareem  many  searching  questions,  and 
flouted  him,   ridiculed  him,   flattered   him.     One 


TEE   SECRET   OF    TEE   AMULET.  237 

evening,  as  they  leant  over  the  bridge  together,  she 
inquired — 

"  Why  had  he  given  away  his  kite  ?  "Why  was 
he  not  at  Buldoo's  wedding  feast  ?  "Why  did  he 
mope  like  a  sick  fowl?  "What  secret  was  in  his 
mind  ?  " 

His  tardy  answers  were  vague  and  confused,  and 
all  at  once  the  truth  broke  upon  Pera  with  one 
lightning  flash. 

The  scroll  had  been  deciphered. 

**  Kareem,  I  see  you  no  longer  care  for  me,"  she 
whimpered  tearfully. 

"  I  do,"  he  rejoined;  "but  to  what  avail?  You 
are  to  marry  Mindoo,  the  dacoit." 

"  He  is  no  dacoit ;  neither  am  I  to  marry  him. 
If  you  say  so,  I  will  strike  you  on  the  mouth  with 
my  shoe,"  rejoined  this  fiery  lady. 

"Nevertheless,  both  my  words  are  true,"  per- 
sisted Kareem,  doggedly. 

"  They  are  not ;  Mindoo  is  old.  Ah  bah  !  thirty 
years  old !  he  lacks  one  finger ;  he  has  a  hideous 
mark  on  his  cheek,  whilst  you "  she  paused 


238  THE   SECRET   OF   THE  AMULET. 

and  smiled  in  his  face  expressively  and  said,  "  Oh, 
Kareem,  what  an  owl  you  are  1  And  now  shall  I 
tell  you  what  ails  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  you  can,"  he  answered  with  an  in- 
credulous laugh. 

"You  have  found  out  what  was  written  in  the 
little  scroll." 

Kareem  started  perceptibly. 

"  Yes,  I  see  it  is  true,"  and  here  she  made  a 
wild  shot.  "  I'll  wager  my  gold  nose-ring,  that  it 
relates  to  money." 

Kareem  grew  very  pale,  and  cast  down  his  eyes. 

"  To  a  treasure  :  look  at  me,  Kareem." 

He  looked,  impelled  by  the  influence  of  her  eyes, 
looked  and  was  lost— his  face  told  everything. 

"Pera,"  he  exclaimed  tremulously,  "you  are  a 
witch." 

"  Kareem,"  she  rejoined,  leaning  her  cool  smooth 
cheek  against  his  (truly  she  was  a  bold,  forward 
minx),  "  you  are  an  owl ;  you  always  were  an  owl. 
Once  you  had  no  secrets  from  me. — Now  begin  and 
ttll  me  all  about  it.'* 


TEE   SECBET   OF   TEE  AMULET.  239 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing,"  withdrawing  his  eyes 
from  those  dazzling  black  orbs,  and  gazing  fixedly 
into  the  river. 

"  Oh,  Kareem,  alas  !  my  first  word  was  true, 
you  no  longer  care  for  me ; "  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
pure  crocodile's  tears. 

"  I  do,  I  do,  beyond  any  treasure  in  the  world," 
he  protested  eagerly. 

**  Yes  "  (so  there  tvas  a  treasure),  "but  you  only 
pretend  to  love  me ;  it  is  all  from  the  mouth,  hke 
idle  words." 

"  No,  it  is  from  my  heart  and  soul ;  but  you  in 
your  heart  care  not  for  me,  you  care  for  Mindoo. 
You  laughed  the  day  I  came  home  in  my  syce's 
clothes — you  laughed  when  Hiram's  white  Arab 
nearly  killed  me." 

**  Pooh  "  —  snapping  her  fingers  playfully — 
"  what  is  a  laugh  ?  I  always  laugh  !  See,  I  still 
wear  your  blue  glass  bangles.  I  love  finery;  I 
love  laughing — and  I  love  you.  Oh,  foolish  Kareem, 
how  shall  I  prove  it  to  you,  since  you  doubt  my 
word  ?     Speak  1 " 


240         TEE  SECRET   OF   TEE   AMULET. 

"  Marry  me  in  two  moons'  time,"  -was  his  prompt 
answer. 

"Yes,"  after  a  long  pause,  "but  I  must  also 
prove  you;  I  swear  by  Allah  to  marry  you,  but 
first  you  must  tell  me  your  secret." 

And  she  looked  up  into  his  face  and  smiled,  and 
he,  gazing  at  her  parted  red  lips  and  glistening, 
eager  eyes,  wavered.  She  saw  her  advantage,  and 
instantly  pressed  it  home. 

Oh !  miserable  youth !  why  did  you  not  attend 
to  that  cry  of  warning  in  your  ears — "  Blind  man,  . 
blind  man,  blind  man  "  ? 

The  sun  hung  low  in  a  crimson  sky,  everything 
was  defined  and  glorified  as  in  a  golden  light,  from 
the  curves  of  the  shining  river,  to  where  the  flat 
horizon  touched  the  glowing  heavens.  The  couple 
on  the  bridge,  fair  as  another  Paul  and  Virginia, 
stood  out  in  black  relief  against  the  yellow  haze ; 
as  they  leant  upon  the  stone  parapet,  talking  in 
whispers,  passers-by  laughed  and  said,  "  Behold, 
Pera  makes  a  fool  of  Kareem  again."  When  at 
length  they  raised  themselves  up,  and  came  slowly 


THE  SECRET   OF   THE   AMULET.         24 1 

homewards,  there  was  anew,  ecstatic,  and  triumph- 
ant expression  in  Pera's  eyes — she  knew.  Never- 
theless she  had  sworn  by  a  most  solemn  oath, 
never  to  reveal  the  secret  of  the  amulet.  It  was 
already  arranged  that  she  was  to  have  a  palki- 
gharri  and  two  horses — ^just  like  a  mem-sahih — and 
a  string  of  large  pearls,  and  gold  necklets,  such  as 
would  make  the  Bunnia's  wife  poison  herself  from 
envy ;  for  she  and  Kareem  were  to  be  married  by 
the  first  moon  in  December — and  to  live  happy 
ever  after. 

A  month  later,  the  collector's  camp  was  pitched 
within  two  miles  of  the  banks  of  the  Goomptee. 
He  had  arrived  there  by  slow  marches,  and  was 
within  easy  reach  of  the  spot  indicated  in  the 
parchment.  Mr.  Colebrook  set  out  on  foot  in  the 
afternoon,  with  Kareem  to  carry  his  fishing-rod,  and 
to  disarm  suspicion.  They  walked  for  some  dis- 
tance along  the  edge  of  the  river  in  single  file,  till 
round  a  sharp  bend  the  old  broken  bridge  appeared 
in  view ;  the  setting  sun  was  shining  between  the 
massive  piers,   as   the   Goomptee   came   swirling 

B 


242  TEE   SECRET   OF   THE  AMULET. 

between  them.  A  pair  of  paddy-birds  were  having 
a  mortal  combat  in  the  rushes,  a  serious-looking 
blue  kingfisher  was  perched  on  a  stone,  following 
his  avocation.  Enormous  fish  (rohu)  splashed 
about  like  porpoises;  no  wonder  they  were  so 
thriving !  the  Goomptee  is  a  sacred  river ;  on  the 
sand  on  the  far  bank  lay  a  bleached  white  skeleton, 
and  here,  among  the  tangled  water-plants,  was  an 
old  charpoy,  legs  upward,  on  which  some  corpse 
had  once  been  committed  to  the  holy  stream. 

But  naturally  Kareem  had  no  interest  in  these 
things;  though  his  master,  a  man  of  dreamy 
moods,  paused  for  a  moment,  and  in  his  mind's 
eye  surveyed  the  great  bridge  as  it  once  had  been, 
covered  with  a  multitude  of  horsemen  and  camel- 
drivers — a  predatory  horde — flying  northward,  with 
their  spoils,  and  their  streaming  horse-tail  stan- 
dards. 

He  was  sharply  aroused  from  his  reverie  by  a 
piercing  cry,  and  turning,  he  saw  that  Kareem 
had  already  made  his  way  to  the  great  milestone 
(shaped  like  a   gigantic  thimble) ;  there,  too,  was 


THE   SECRET   OF   THE   AMULET.  243 

an  ancient  saal  tree ;  and  his  treasure-seeking 
syce  was  standing  on  the  verge  of  an  enormous, 
recently  dug,  and  perfectly  empty  hole.  Miserable 
Kareem,  the  world  seemed  to  swim  before  his 
eyes;  the  tree,  the  milestone,  and  the  sky  went 
round  and  round,  as  he  turned  a  ghastly  face  and 
pair  of  wild  eyes  on  his  master,  and  pointed  to 
the  cavity  at  his  feet ;  it  was  all  that  he  could  do. 

"  Yes,"  cried  Mr.  Colebrook,  "  it  is  gone,  no 
doubt  of  that,  and  gone  within  a  week ;  see  the 
freshly-turned  earth,  the  wheel-tracks.  Oh,  you 
young  fool !  How  many  have  you  taken  into  your 
confidence  besides  old  Ibrahim  ?  You  see  they 
have  robbed  you.     Whom  have  you  told  ?  " 

"But  one,"  stammered  Kareem,  in  a  hoarse 
voice. 

*'  Look,"  continued  the  collector,  "  they  were  ip 
a  great  hurry  " — poking  the  earth  with  his  stick 
as  he  spoke.  "  See,  they  left  the  spade ;  here  are 
bits  of  iron  clamps;  here  are  two  gold  coins,  the  boss 
of  a  silver  bit,  and — yes,  a  trace  of  the  thieves — 
and  of  course  there  was  a  woman  in  it,"  as,  stoop- 


244  TEE   SECRET   OF   TEE  AMULET. 

ing,  he  picked  up  something,  and  held  it  towards 
Kareem.     "  Here  is  half  of  a  blue  glass  bangle." 

Kareem  stared,  with  great  distended  eyes ;  as  he 
stood,  he  became  of  a  dull  greyish  colour,  his  lips 
were  livid,  and  his  face  twisted  out  of  all  recogni- 
tion, with  some  spasm  of  horrible  agony. 

**  It  is  Perd's"  he  shouted,  with  a  wild,  despair- 
ing scream,  and  flung  himself  full-length  on  the 
ground,  digging  his  hands  into  the  sandy  soil. 

"  They  have  a  whole  week's  start,  I  am  afraid," 
said  Mr.  Colebrook,  who  was  still  turning  over  the 
earth,  "  and  will  make  forced  marches ;  but  we 
may  catch  them.  I  shall  send  you  off  at  once,  on 
the  young  bay  horse,  with  a  note  to  the  joint 
magistrate;  he  will  telegraph,  and  I  believe  we 
will  get  them  yet ;  they  have  too  heavy  a  load  to 
travel  rapidly.  Kareem,  don't  be  a  woman !  Get 
up  and  listen  to  me,  Kareem !  Do  you  hear 
me  ? "  and  he  shook  him  gently.  But  Kareem 
would  never  hear  anything  again  in  this  world — 
Kareem  was  dead. 

A.t  first  Mr.  Colebrook  could  not,  and  would  not. 


THE   SECRET   OF   THE   AMULET.         245 

realize  the  truth ;  he  put  his  hand  across  the  cold 
month ;  he  laid  his  ear  against  the  still  heart ;  it 
was  no  faint.     Alas  !  no. 

The  shock  had  proved  fatal  to  Kareem.  To  lose 
his  fortune  and  his  beloved,  in  one  and  the  same 
moment,  was  too  crushing  a  blow  for  his  frail 
organization.  Pera's  treachery  had  broken  his 
heart. 

When  the  collector  had  at  last  grasped  the 
tragic  fact,  that  the  active,  bright-faced  boy,  who 
had  started  from  the  camp  hardly  an  hour  ago, 
full  of  life  and  hope,  was  really  dead,  he  was 
deeply  concerned,  and  he  felt  an  unusual  dimness 
in  his  eyes,  as  he  stood  gazing  at  this  unhappy 
heir  of  long-buried  riches. 

Then  seeing  a  chuprassi  in  the  distance,  who 
had  followed  (unbidden)  afar  off,  he  shouted  to  him 
to  approach.  The  chuprassi  came  and  looked, 
and  was  amazed  out  of  his  usual  impassive  de- 
meanour ;  and  in  an  extraordinarily  short  time  a 
little  crowd  had  assembled — what  mystic  force  is 
it  that  iraws  people  to  a  tragedy,  whether  in  a 


246         THE   SECRET   OF   THE  AMULET. 

London  street,  or  an  Indian  jungle  ?  Here  'were 
lean  brown  fishermen  from  the  river-banks ;  here 
were  turtle-spearers,  and  half  a  dozen  ryots,  who 
had  abandoned  their  herds  of  gaunt  white  cattle — 
all  come  to  look  at  a  dead  lad. 

The  distance  made  it  impossible  to  carry  Ka- 
reem  back  to  Hassanpur,  and  bury  him  formally 
in  the  Mohammedan  cemetery.  "  In  the  place 
where  the  tree  falleth  there  shall  it  be,"  and  he 
must  find  a  resting-place  in  the  forest.  Mr. 
Colebrook  left  two  men  to  watch  the  body,  whilst 
he  hurried  to  camp  to  make  arrangements  for 
the  interment,  and  to  break  the  heavy  tidings  to 
Harry  Sahib.  The  funeral  obsequies  were  solemnly 
conducted  by  Kareem's  fellow  Mohammedan  ser- 
vants, and  early  next  day  the  collector  was 
surprised  to  hear  that  Eareem  had  already  been 
laid  to  rest.  The  great  hole,  which  for  three 
centuries  had  contained  his  lost  family  treasure, 
of  gold  and  rubies,  pearls  and  emeralds,  now 
received  instead,  their  unfortunate  and  defrauded 
beir, — and  proved  his  convenient   grave.     Harry 


TEE  SECRET   OF    TEE   AMULET.         247 

SaMb  shed  many  hot  tears  upon  it,  and  even 
brought  the  "  lal  Tattoo "  to  se^  the  plaee  vfaeia 
poor  Kareem  was  buried. 

The  collector  instituted  an  immediate  search  for 
Pera,  daughter  of  Abdool,  but  she  and  Mindoo,  the 
dacoit,  had  suddenly  disappeared — "  the  very  day 
that  his  honour  himself  had  gone  into  the  dis- 
trict ;  no  one  could  tell  what  had  become  of  them." 
After  a  long  and  wholly  useless  investigation,  the 
following  facts  were  elicited :  Pera  and  Mindoo 
had  had  accomplices  in  their  flight ;  they  had 
gone  south ;  but  few  beyond  Mr.  Colebrook  were  in 
possession  of  the  third  and  most  important  detail, 
viz.  that  with  them,  they  had  carried  the  secret  of 
the  amulet. 


TEE  E!n>. 


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